


Different: That's What I Like!

by MagicalStranger13



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-08 12:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 37,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5497577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicalStranger13/pseuds/MagicalStranger13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The infidelity was discovered, and Roland was kicked to the curb, but the plot to steal the Love Potion didn't occur so promptly.  Instead, Marianne becomes the badass Fairy Queen a few years later and makes good on her original plan to go into the Dark Forest and 'talk to them'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just got bit by the writing bug again. Hope you guys like it!

It all began when Stuff and Thang came barreling into the throne room, shouting over each other about something urgent the mushrooms were saying.  The Bog King heaved a great, weary sigh as his two aides bounced up and down before him like a couple of sugar-fueled toads.  The day had started out like countless others: quiet, still, and painfully dull.  Perhaps, as he secretly _hoped_ , they were about to have some excitement around here, but that didn’t mean he would tolerate childishness any more than usual.

“STOP!”  He roared in annoyance, thumping his staff against the ground for emphasis. 

The bumbling pair immediately clammed up and froze, trembling before their king and his notoriously short temper.  

“Now, _one_ at a time.”  He growled.  “What _is_ it?”   

Stuff recovered first, but instead of explaining, she elbowed Thang in the ribs.

“ _You_ can tell him.”

“Huh?!”  The male blanched.  “No, _you_ tell him!”

“He _likes_ you.”

“ _Really_?”

“I’m _waiting_!”  Bog snapped, patience almost dried out.

Thang flinched and cleared his throat.

“The hairy spleen reproaches!” 

.

.

.

“What?”

“Okay uh,” Thang gulped, “y-you know how we harvest the spleen of the animals we hunt for extra meat in the winter?  Well…sometimes they get hair on them and…um, if you eat ‘em before you clean ‘em……you’ll be sorry…later…?”

An all-too-familiar throb formed right between Bog’s eyes whenever he had to deal with things like this.  There was about to be hell to pay.  His wings spread and his muscles tensed to take flight.

“I’ll deal with-!”

“No, no, no, you moron!”  Stuff scolded her companion before Bog could move.  “That wasn’t it!  It was ‘the Fairy Queen approaches’!”

“Oh, fer peat’s sake!”  Bog spat, rising to his feet.  _That_ explanation sounded even more ridiculous than the last. 

“No, _really_ , sire!”  Stuff pressed.  “That _was_ the message!  _Honest_!” 

“It’s true, your majesty!”  Gus, one of Bog’s soldiers, insisted as he and his lumbering giant of an older brother, Brutus, came into the room with a small group of scouts.  “I saw her myself!”

“Me too!”  Brutus reaffirmed in his rumbling voice.  “And she’s alone!” 

Everything grew quiet again as Bog processed the information he’d just received.  He felt his face twist with confusion. 

Alone?

The Fairy Queen…

…was coming _here_? 

 _Alone_?

Was this a joke?

Was he dreaming?

Bog sat back down and massaged his temple as he tried to make sense of all this.  For most of his life, the Fairy Kingdom had meant little more to him than the place that bordered the west-side of his Dark Forest; the side where the blasted Primroses grew.  Twenty years ago, he’d outlawed the blossoms and had them cut down every spring.  Anyone caught with so much as a petal (goblin, elf, _or_ fairy) was subject to imprisonment and very likely, execution. 

If he remembered correctly, the last Fairy King was some portly fool named Daniel. 

_No, David._

_Derek?_

_Dagda!  That’s it!  It was Dagda._  

Over the years, he heard rumors here and there from the neighboring kingdom: the Fairy Queen giving birth to a daughter, the queen dying giving life to a second daughter, a royal wedding.  A new Fairy Queen had to mean that Dagda had passed, but if that was the case, then what happened to the royal wedding?  Where was the new Fairy King?  Why wasn’t he coming with her?  Did he know his queen was marching into enemy territory alone?  Did her younger sister or even her subjects know? 

Bog had always been taught to think of fairies as wispy, vain and idiotic.  The sparse handful he had met in his youth did nothing to change his opinion, but this…

…this was downright _insane_!    

He didn’t know whether to describe this mysterious queen as incredibly spirited, or incredibly stupid.  It wasn’t uncommon knowledge what happened to wayward fairies and elves that ventured too far into his domain, but to be fair, that was only if they tried to steal a Primrose or attacked his goblins. 

Speaking of which…

“Is she armed?”

“Yes, sire.”  Brutus nodded.

Hmm, maybe she wasn’t _that_ stupid after all.

But still, what on _earth_ could she possibly _want_?  It was midsummer; the Primroses were all cut down so his subjects hadn’t been near the border for months.  If she had any ideas about negotiating for the preservation of those damn flowers, he’d have her thrown out on her ear. 

His free hand left his head to fist tightly over his knee.  Had she brought an army, he would’ve ordered them all slaughtered without blinking an eye.  But these were special, if not very strange, circumstances.  Weapon or no, the fact that she was alone and there had been no report of a scuffle made this…visit…non-hostile.  By the crown, he was obligated to let her come to him and speak her piece, whatever it may be about. 

Besides, underneath it all, he was shamelessly curious. 

“She’s here!  She’s here!”  A beaky gremlin exclaimed, running into the room and almost making everyone jump. 

“What do we do, BK?”  Stuff asked, prompting everyone to turn their eyes on him.

“Just…stand back, shut up, an' let me handle this.”

Obediently, the goblins retreated to the far corners of the room to watch the encroaching events unfold.  They all seemed to be holding their breath and shaking with energy.  After all, technically, history was about to be made.

“Show her in.”  Bog commanded the gremlin as he rose again to greet his…guest. 

The gremlin took off down the corridor and Bog barely managed to bite back an amused smirk as his imagination depicted a silly, dolled-up blonde fairy lass stomping into the room and fussing over some impractical, fancy gown; all torn apart and soiled by the plentiful thorns and mud holes of his land.     

But then how could she be armed?

He didn’t have time to come up with an answer, for suddenly a distinctly fairy form soared around the corner as fast as a hummingbird.  The goblins gasped in surprise as there was a rush of air and a glint of purple.

What came flying into the hall and hovered in place before the Bog King, couldn’t have been more different than what he'd imagined. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got the next chapter of this sucker out! Hope you guys enjoy it! The next chapter shouldn't take nearly as long since I know exactly what I want to happen.

Bog had always been a goblin of few words, but he had never recalled an instance where he’d been rendered completely speechless before. 

First time for everything.

No fancy gown, torn and soiled or otherwise, adorned the Fairy Queen’s slim body.  Instead, there were rugged boots, navy leggings with a gold vine-like design, and a sleeveless, rose pink tunic.  He could practically smell the aura of a warrior on her.  She was young; couldn’t be more than twenty two years.  There were no sunshine blonde curls framing her heart-shaped face, but rather wild, wavey locks the shade of fresh earth.  Deep purple paint coated her lips and eyes.      

Speaking of which…

Despite those _massive_ violet and black wings fluttering behind her, it had to be those _eyes_ that struck him the most.  They were brown, but there was a glow to them.  Like a distant fire on a mountain top.  He could see flecks of amber, _exactly_ like the sacred stone in his staff, scattered throughout the irises.  If his goblin scouts had seen that, he wouldn’t have been surprised to learn if they’d cleared a path straight to his castle for her.  That’s certainly all the proof _they_ would need to verify her royal status.

Good thing _he_ was the king here, and not so easily swayed by something as trivial as eye color…

.

.

.

…no matter how pleasing they _might_ be to look at.

For what could’ve been an eternity, the two monarchs from vastly different worlds just stared at each other without saying a word; almost as if they were the first goblin and fairy to ever meet. 

Her face was set hard with determination, but there was a touch of fascination, curiosity, and even _excitement_ in her burnt gold depths.  Bog saw her scan over his scaly form, the same way he’d done to her, and he was pleased to see the faintest glint of apprehension join the rest of the emotions swimming in her eyes.  Just because their queen decided to waltz into his forest didn’t mean that the fairies needed to lose their fear of him and his subjects.  And he already knew he looked _nothing_ like any goblin she might’ve seen before. 

All was silent, save for the handful of scouts and servants watching huddled together around the room, growling low in their throats at the fairy for not only her abrupt entrance, but also at how she continued to hover so close to their king, with a weapon lashed at her hip, and unclear intentions.  They all knew Bog could defend himself better than any other creature in the entire Dark Forest, he wouldn’t be their king otherwise, but they were a pack race, and would fight to the death to protect their leader if anything were to happen.

After what seemed like eons, she finally spoke in a smooth, feminine, but strongly authoritative voice:

“Are you the Bog King?”

Thank goodness he was able to keep his expression schooled to stern with just a hint of mild incredulity, and match her tone. 

“I am.”

She appeared to be…quite relieved at his affirmative, and gently touched down to the floor, where, to Bog’s further astonishment, and without breaking eye contact, she kneeled gracefully before him.

“I’m deeply honored to make your acquaintance.  My name is Marianne: crowned Fairy Queen of the Light Fields.”

_Marianne._

Bog vaguely remembered hearing a few things about a _Princess_ Marianne over the years.  So this was Dagda’s successor? 

_Interesting…_

“Charmed, I’m sure.”  He replied, inclining his head to her.  “An' what is yer business here, yer majesty?”

“Forgive the intrusion, my Lord,” she said, fluidly rising to her feet, “but I’ve always believed in the direct approach.”

_No kidding._

“An admirable quality, though in _some_ circumstances, one might consider it… _reckless_.”

“I can assure you, great Bog King, I mean absolutely no harm to you, nor your subjects.” 

“An' yet, ye come _armed_?”

The goblins around them grumbled in agreement.  A fairy with a blade was not to be trusted.

She glanced at the sword in question……and then _grinned_ at him!

“Surely, my Lord can’t begrudge me _some_ measure of protection when venturing into unknown territory?  I may be reckless, but I’m definitely _not_ stupid.  I’ve promised no harm to anyone here, but since I’ve yet to receive the same promise in return, it pays to be cautious, doesn’t it?”    

Bog was stunned.  So she was clever, too.  Such cunning was highly respected among his predator species.  Proof of _that_ came from the almost instant quiet that fell over their goblin audience.    

“I’ve wanted to speak to you for many years now.”

“Is that so?  What about?”

She took a deep breath and appeared to almost brace herself, as if she were about to put on an operatic performance, rather than simply answer a question.  

“This silence between our kingdoms has gone on for far too long.” 

!!!

_What?!_

The goblins murmured amongst themselves in startled disbelief, but the Fairy Queen did not let them distract her.

“My father might’ve been satisfied with the stagnation, but I find it _boring_ and _unnecessary_.  Despite what you may think, you _are_ our _neighbors_ , and we are _not_ scared anymore.  So, I _demand_ a _change_.”

Thunderstruck was the only descriptive Bog would consider even _remotely_ accurate enough to convey his feelings at her statement, let alone bluntness.  He only knew one way to respond to such pluck.

“I dorn’t know what yer game is,” he growled in warning, “but if yer under any _delusions_ about savin’ those Primroses, then ye can jus’-!”

“Please.”  She interrupted, holding up a hand.  “I have no interest in those ridiculous flowers.  As a matter of fact, I personally support your decision to destroy them every spring.”

Now _that_ was a shock.  Fairies were known to frown upon the destruction of any sort of blossom.  To hear that their own queen backed his decree to cut them all down teased his imagination (for the first time) as to just what was going on in the kingdom of light and open land. 

But even so, what the devil _was_  she up to?

“What I _am_ interested in,” she went on, as if reading his mind, “is an _alliance_.”

The word echoed as the tremulous peal of a bell and permeated the room like a cold draft.  All of the goblins reacted with a mixture of snarls, gasps, and whispers. 

For Bog’s part, he was, once again, grateful that his face betrayed so little of the warring emotions in his head.     

_Can she really be serious?_

_No…_

_Of course not._

_Impossible._

_No, this has to be some sort of trick._

_But what if it isn’t?_

_Have ye learned nothin'?  There is no such thing as random good fortune.  Especially fer you!  The fairies have ignored us fer twenty years, as ye requested.  Why would they reach out to us now?_

_Because **she** is their queen now.  She came here alone to show her seriousness.  Why else would she bother to risk her life?  _

His thoughts were interrupted by Marianne, who chose to take his lack of an immediate answer as a positive sign to continue.

“I want our people, yours and mine, to have the freedom to go anywhere they want.  To have fun, to see things, to have adventures!  I know the history between our kingdoms is a terrible and bloody one, but even you know that before the border was closed, there hadn’t been a single violent conflict for nearly a hundred years!”

She turned to the goblins and though a few still bared their teeth and glared at her with distrust, there were many whose features gradually softened and they blinked at her with almost childlike awe, and Bog was touched by how easily she was able to soothe and influence them.  With her eye color, charisma, and spirit, there was no doubt that, had she been born a goblin, she would be a mighty queen still. 

“We no longer hunt each other.  The few lives that have been lost since, were the lives of fools that did not obey the law.  I know how much order means to you, and I can promise you, at the very least, in that respect, we are not so different.”

Looking back to the Bog King, she took a single step forward in her declaration. 

“Your own father made a venture down this road once.  It wasn’t anything extraordinary, but it could be.  We can, and are perfectly willing to reopen the trade lines, so we can exchange even more medicines, clothing, and food than we did before.  We wish to invite you to our festivals and galas.  I want to hold court with you, your majesty.  I’d like to know everything there is to know about your culture, and vice versa.  I understand and respect your ban on love and neither myself, nor my people will make any attempt to dispute it.  This is strictly about the future; about progress, expansion, and the overall strengthening of both our kingdoms.  I offer you aide, council, a share of our stock......and friendship.  And I should very much like to have the same offer returned equally.  What say you?”

Not a sound broke the stillness.  Every goblin eye landed on the king, waiting for his decision with bated breath.  Would he dismiss her?  And if so, would he let her go, or have her slain?  Or would he _agree_?

For the longest time, the Bog King’s stony countenance was unreadable.  In fact, when it finally did crack the smallest of smirks, several goblins flinched in alarm. 

“Well……I say that’s a very…logical an'  _considerate_ offer, my Lady.”

It was subtle, but she seemed to draw herself up with pride, and there was a gleam in her eyes that danced dangerously close to smugness.

“Thank you.”

“But-”

_If ye think it’s gonna be that easy..._

The gleam vanished.

“-I’m afraid, I can’t accept.”

_…yer dead wrong._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooo, cliffy! 0.0  
> Comments and kudos make the world go 'round and me write faster! <3


	3. Chapter 3

The declaration hung in the air for several long moments with no verbal reply from its target.   Only the audience. 

As the goblins murmured their mixture of shock, agitation, and disbelief, Bog found himself marvelously entertained by the spectrum of emotions that played across the Fairy Queen’s face.  The great surprise at his apparent refusal, embarrassment for her presumptions, and confusion at the eager energy of their spectators, were most amusing, but when her features finally settled on tightly controlled anger, he was not expecting to find the rosy color it brought to her cheeks, nor the extra spark it brought to her burning eyes, to be quite so……becoming.

It took her some effort to finally speak.

“And…why _not_?”

Bog could’ve laughed at the level of thinly veiled indignation in her voice.  She must’ve been quite a spoiled little princess, once upon a time; accustomed to always getting her way.  The idea made him immensely glad to confound her. 

“Ye say ye wish to know more about our culture.”

He began walking down the dais steps towards her at a leisurely pace, and though she stiffened at the sudden movement, he saw her hands clench into fists at her sides.  She would not be intimidated. 

_Good._

“Allow me to give ye yer fist lesson.”

Upon seeing their king approach the fairy, the goblins hurriedly shuffled themselves about; forming a large, awkward ring around the throne room.  Marianne quirked an eyebrow at their actions, but her attention was solely for the Bog King as he came even closer.

“The Dark Forest is vast an' bountiful, but nothin’ it offers is free.  Ye have to bite an' claw for each an' every last scrap o’ land, warmth, an' meat.”

 He slowly circled her, examining the amber stone in the crown of his staff as he went. 

“Our race is made up o’ many clans, and o’ those clans, many villages.  Fer the most part, those villages govern themselves on their own pretty well, an' though some are under my law, there are plenty that maintain their total independence.  However, every once in a while, the forest is harsh enough that the judgment an' protection only a king an' his army can provide is necessary for survival.  So, a representative from either a village or the entire clan will come before me to request joinin' my territory.”

Marianne listened carefully, but with growing irritation, and when Bog paused in his explanation, she responded with nearly grit teeth.

“So, is _that_ why you’re saying no?  Because my people are fairies and elves instead of goblins?  And because we don’t want to become _part_ of the Dark Forest?  We just want an alliance with it?”

A snort broke the stillness, followed by a series of gleeful sniggering from the goblins, as if there was some great joke about all this.  Glancing around, a half-angry, half-mortified flush colored the Fairy Queen’s cheeks.  Her now snow white knuckles shook and her glare could’ve melted iron.     

“WHAT is so damn _FUNNY_?!”  She shouted, causing at least two thirds of the crowd to shut their traps in fear. 

Even with a smile playing at the corner of his lips, Bog was quite intrigued to hear the true authority in her tone.  He banged his staff on the floor to silence the rest of his subjects.

“My dear Lady, I haven’t said _anythin'_ , yet.”

She froze and Bog watched as her eyebrows creased with confusion.  Was there _any_ emotion she could display on her face that _wasn’t_ as diverting as the last?

“You-?  B-but the……I…I don’t understand!”

“ _If_ I may be allowed to continue?”  He almost teased, bowing slightly to her.

For a beat, her mouth opened as if to argue, but ultimately, she only huffed in annoyance and planted her hands on her hips, prompting him to finish.

“Now, when this representative comes to me, they can state all the logical benefits they please, but the _only_ way I will accept the terms, is if they pass the test, accordin’ to our ancient tradition.”

“…What test?” 

To her clear amazement, the Bog King twirled his _solid_ metal staff around both hands, and then _one_ single finger.

“A test o’ strength an' endurance.”  He said, catching his weapon and holding it along the length of his arm.  “To _prove_ that the village or clan are _all_ capable warriors, worthy o’ my pack.  There is no room in the Dark Forest fer the weak.  So, if ye _really_ want an alliance with us, ye have to _earn_ it.” 

At last, understanding flashed in Marianne’s eyes, at the exact same time Bog raised his staff to point directly at her.

“It’s a good thing ye brought that sword, now _draw_ it.”

Her hand automatically grasped the handle of her weapon, but she hesitated in obeying his order.

“You want me to _fight_ you?”

“Obviously; _draw_ yer _sword_.”

“Hold your horseflies!”  She said, gesturing for him to wait, even as she slowly did as he asked.  “I don’t spar with a partner before I know the rules first.”

“Fair enough; they’re perfectly simple.  The test will last a maximum o’ three minutes.  The object is no' to kill fer either party.  _My_ goal is merely to disarm ye.”

“And mine?”

“To _last_.”  He smirked.  “If I disarm ye, then there will be _no_ alliance.  If ye make it past three minutes _without_ losin’ yer sword, forfeitin’, or passin’ out, then ye can consider yer act o’ diplomacy a success.”

Marianne pursed her lips in brief consideration, before brandishing her weapon with a cocky look.

“Only _three_ minutes?  No problem.  What happens if _I_ disarm _you_?”

“Well,” Bog shrugged, “if ye cut my head off before I pick my staff up again, then ye can call yerself the new Queen o’ the Dark Forest.”

She blinked at him, but then her fingers skittered across the flat of her blade, and something playful passed through her eyes. 

“I’ll _try_ to control myself.”

_Was she-?!  No…no, never mind._

As the opponents took their stances, Bog signaled to his aides. 

“Ready?”

“Ready, sire!”  Stuff called, her webbed hands braced on their small, official minute-glass.  “GO!”

Bog wasn’t sure what he expected when the countdown began, but it certainly _wasn’t_ for the Fairy Queen to take the offensive and shoot towards him like a purple snake with a battle cry loud and fierce enough to wake the dead.  He barely had a whole second to dodge the stab she’d aimed at his thorax. 

She followed her attack with two more thrusts, which Bog avoided by shifting right and left while hurriedly backing away from her advance.  An upward slash whizzed just past the tip of his nose, and a shower of orange sparks jumped from the clash of their weapons when a few more of her strikes at his upper body were parried.

A handful of goblins scrambled to get out of the way as their king retreated _almost_ right into the seat of his throne, but Bog managed to catch himself fast enough to put the arm of the grand chair between him and the queen, just as she brought her blade down and buried it into the natural curve of weathered bone. 

Tugging sharply on the handle, Marianne’s face instantly blanched with shock when her sword stayed firmly jammed in place, leaving her vulnerable to the Bog King.  Said goblin took the opportunity to rush at her and wedge his staff against the pommel of her trapped weapon in an attempt to pry it from her hands.  She held on for dear life.

“Ye haven’t even breached _thirty_ seconds, Tough Girl.”  He tauntingly whispered.  “Dorn’t tell me I’m about to break my record?”

At his mocking, The Fairy Queen’s pale cheeks turned red with fury and she released one hand from her deathlike grip. With the force of a falling tree, she then smashed her fist straight into the king’s prickly cheek! 

Everything seemed to screech to a halt and the entire room erupted with astonished gasps and mutterings as Bog stumbled back from the blow.  Bewildered, but not incensed, he adjusted his aching jaw to make sure it wasn’t broken and turned to face the queen, who had quickly freed her blade and dashed a few feet away to a safer distance.  Her expression was nettled, but also rather wary; most likely, in case she had just ruined everything by crossing a line of goblin fighting etiquette, but the rest, had to be in anticipation for his next move. 

He flexed his shoulder scales and cracked his neck, and when he saw the way her eyes widened at the gesture, he wondered with vague bitterness if he reminded her of a hideous, scaly backed cockroach.

Regardless, he spun his staff in his hands with a long lost boyish grin; now _tremendously_ excited for the match to resume.

“Impressive!”

 


	4. Chapter 4

Bog had meant what he said, and it was apparently all the encouragement and assurance the Fairy Queen needed, for every trace of apprehension vanished from her face as quickly as they had appeared, and she charged at him _again_. 

This time, he eluded her by soaring into the air.  She stayed on his heels though, and as he deflected another swipe from her blade, they fell into a brief circular chase which culminated in their landing on the hanging sticker and glowworm chandeliers.

Back and forth, they swung on the fixtures, each trying to land a hit when they came within range, until the queen apparently grew bored and leapt from her perch to buzz around Bog like an angry hornet.  He continued to parry her moves, but was surprised when she sliced clean through the vine of his chandelier and sent it plummeting to the ground.  Goblins scrambled out of the way in every direction as the heavy, spikey mass shattered on impact with a tremendous crash. 

When the fairy rushed at him, Bog met her halfway, and their weapons collided with another sharp clang and a flash of tiny sparks.  As they pushed against each other in their standoff, Bog was amazed at the hidden strength in her slim body.  In the past, he’d been able to bring goblins twice her size to their knees with only one arm! 

But she…

 _She_ was forcing him to keep every muscle tense and to flap his wings with fury, so as not to yield a single inch. 

It was so incredible, Bog couldn’t help keeping that gleeful smile from earlier, firmly in place on his lips.  When was the last time he’d enjoyed a fight like this so much?  Had he _ever_?  

His thoughts were interrupted by her blowing a random lock of hair out of her eyes. 

The movement was small and inconsequential, but it struck Bog with a sudden and peculiarly strong desire to mimic the act; to see what she would do in response.  Excitement spiked in his limbs at the possibilities!

So, since he had no hair, he rolled his eyes and puffed a bit of air up at the leafy scale of his left eyebrow.   He was delighted to see her give him a cheeky look, obviously wise to his game, before back-flipping away. 

They traded more parries and thrusts that did little more than make noise and waste time, at least until the Fairy Queen teased: 

“One minute down, and still not a scratch on me.  I wonder, is the almighty Bog King getting a bit on in years?”

“I’ll make ye eat those words, lass!”

“How about _you_ eat _this_!”

They had flown pretty high by this point, and Marianne nudged a large chunk of wood loose from a crack in the ceiling and then whacked it free with her sword. 

Bog backed off just in time, and heard multiple squeals of alarm from below as his goblins once again ran for cover from massive, falling objects.  The wood chunk hit the floor with a solid BOOM.

In an uncanny display of synchronization, they both dropped straight down after it in a landing.  The fairy jumped onto the chunk to even out there height somewhat as blade and staff clashed again.  He blocked a chop aimed for his skull and tried to retaliate with a similar attack, but she was just as fast and agile on land as she was airborne, for she avoided him with graceful leaps and spins. 

But, it appeared that her luck was about to run out, for when she hopped to dodge a sweep made to her legs, she jabbed her sword at the goblin.  Fortunately, Bog turned expertly and, to both their surprise, her weapon wedged its tip into the decorative end of his staff, directly between the wire-bound amber stone, and the encompassing metal ring.

Bog recovered first, and shot a cocky grin at his opponent, who had been forced _very_ close to his side, practically cheek-to-cheek, at this development.  In the half-second he watched her struggle to free her blade, he noted that she had a scent on her that reminded him of raspberries and…something else he couldn’t quite identify, but it was certainly familiar.

Her burning eyes met his with a scowl, but he could see the wheels turning frantically in her head; she knew she was in deep trouble.

 _What a shame._ Bog thought.  _This had been so interesting!  Damn._

Almost regretfully, but with a powerful heave, he then swept his staff out, ripping the sword from the Fairy Queen’s hands, but astoundingly, instead of tossing the blade to the ground, it actually launched into the air! 

It wasn’t over yet!  She still had a chance!

However, she didn’t take flight to catch it.  To Bog’s shock, she grabbed the end of his staff and yanked him forward.  The unexpectedness of the move made him stumble, right into the smart kick she planted on his chest.  Irritated at being caught off guard, he swiped at her, but missed as she sprung off the wood chunk and smirked at him.  Her sword then fell perfectly into the open hand she’d stretched out behind her.  

Bog couldn’t move a muscle.  All he could do was breathe out an awestruck:

“Not bad!”

He was absolutely _stunned_ at such skill, such finesse, such-!

His lack of focus was a mistake, for she pointed her blade directly at his throat.  Mentally berating himself for the slipup and fumbling for a strategy, he decided to unleash one of his best secret maneuvers.  He’d been resting his wings long enough. 

He smacked her sword away and swiftly moved in a circle around her, using his wings to propel him to a speed that made him a mere blur to the naked eye.  It was a good plan, but not good enough, for she copied him in a blink, and the goblins gaped in wonder as the two monarchs danced around each other in a whirlwind of purple and grey.

More strikes were blocked: her to his front, him to her back, then him to her head.  Nothing could get through either of their defenses, and for the first time since they’d begun, Bog started to feel a touch of frustration, and ended up uselessly swatting at her as she darted away from him with a laugh.

“So, is that all you got?”

Unwilling to let her get the best of him, he put on a mask of smugness and spun his staff on his finger again, deftly parrying a few more of her lunges.  He pin-wheeled his staff, switching arms for an added affect to his fancy tricks, while countering her movements as she retreated as far as the ring would allow. 

She must’ve gotten fed up with his antics, for she suddenly soared right at him, holding her weapon out in front of her like a winged arrow.  Bog imitated her action and their battle resumed in the center of the throne room.  He kept both hands on his staff, and took a few steps back at her assault, but she managed to push his staff up over both their heads in another standoff.  She was almost nose to nose with him and that mysterious, raspberry-tinted scent, along with her flushed cheeks and wild, determined eyes were fascinating.          

“Oooooo!”  He said, once again, amused by her fire, before sidestepping to continue their exchange of unsuccessful blows.

“Ye fight well, fer a _fairy_!”  He commented, knowing he was running out of time and wanting to ruffle her again. 

“Wish _I_ could say the same for _you_!”

 _That_ stumped him.  There was no way she could’ve ever fought a goblin before.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, glancing at her nails as she fended him off, “I was expecting…”

She swirled in front of him at lighting speed, and when she ceased, she quirked a playful eyebrow at him.

“… _more_?”

Bog was speechless, and he even felt his head cocking at her and his face twisting with confusion.  The sensation in his stomach was akin to that first staunch tug of gravity when diving from a tree, before your wings spread to catch you.    

_What on earth was that all about?  And what was with that tone?  Did she do it on purpose?  Couldn’t have.  Stop being an idiot!_

The implication of her statement raised so many more questions, but this was not the time to ask them, and he couldn’t let such a jab at his pride go unanswered.  By thunder, he’d show her more! 

Bog barreled at the Fair Queen, causing her to use her wings to withdraw up the far wall as he pursued her, reigning strike after strike down on her, and she returned as much as she received. 

He didn’t know how long it went on, but soon, the drag in his muscles, the ache in his joints, and the struggle for adequate air rose to unbearable levels.  She too, had all the signs of acute fatigue, and when they finally swung at the other with pitifully, sluggish form, they both knew it was over.  Simultaneously, their wings gave out and barely managed to let them drift gently to the floor, where their postures and states were mirrored:  both on one knee, both panting and sweating, and both staring intently into each other's eyes. 

“TIME!”


	5. Chapter 5

The throne room was alive with baffled whispers and mutterings.  One could almost taste the shock and disbelief in the air.  Understandable, since there had _never_ been a match result like _this_ before.  Ever!

In the past, there had been many that failed, and quite a few that made it past the three minute mark, but when it came to the latter, not a single one had managed to push the Bog King to the point of exhaustion.  He’d always had plenty of energy to spare, but somehow…

… _she_ had fought him to his limit.  And vice versa!

As the king and queen stared at each other in silence, save for their panting, Bog observed the shimmer of sweat on her arms.  Though her shoulders were slumped, the muscles in her hands were still taunt around the handle of her sword.  He then glanced back up to her face and saw the flush in her cheeks, and how the color rather complimented her eyes, which were staunchly bright with her fire. 

Though her body would tire, she had an unbreakable spirit…just like him.  He never thought he’d find an equal in a fairy, but he supposed there were stranger things in the world. 

Regardless, he felt a pleased grin slide across his face.  There was no way to dispute such a sign of fate. 

Using his staff for support, Bog rose to his full height, and she was quick to do the same.

“The match is decided!”  He announced, loud enough for everyone to hear and hush as he then addressed the queen.  “If the Fairy Kingdom can produce’ fighters of _yer_ caliber, yer majesty, then the Dark Forest will be _honored_ to call it an ally.”

Bog bowed before her and watched with amusement as she flinched and looked around wildly at the goblins, who were erupting into a howling and floor-thumping roar of cheers.

It seemed to take a moment to sink in, but when it did, her purple lips lifted into a beam so big and bright, it made Bog feel oddly warm in the chest. 

“Spread the word to the villages!”  He ordered his subjects to distract himself.  “Stuff and Thang, gather the necessary documents!” 

“Rodger, B.K.!”  Stuff replied, already running off into a hidden tunnel behind the throne with her bumbling partner, while the rest of the goblin crowd eagerly dispersed through the main corridor, leading to the outside. 

When they were all gone, Bog’s attention was, again, caught by the Fairy Queen, as she spoke to him in a hesitant, but grateful voice.

“Thank you.”  She said, sheathing her weapon.  “You have… _no_ idea how much this means to me.”

He was surprised, but shook his head dismissively.

“There’s no reason to thank me.  Ye earned this, fair an' square.”  He then scratched the back of his neck with a chuckle.  “It’s funny, until ye came along, I’d never fought _anyone_ to a standstill.”

Her eyes widened and though it was hard to tell for sure, because of their recent exercise, he thought her face grew even redder, and she fidgeted with a tiny smile, suddenly too shy to meet his gaze.

She looked so…… _cute_. 

And for the first time in what felt like a millennia, Bog didn’t think that descriptive was a bad thing. 

“Well, this is just _wonderful_!”

They both started at the loud, unexpected voice, and Bog barely managed to stifle a groan the instant he recognized it.

His mother, Griselda, came waddling out towards them from one of the hallways, clapping her hands in excitement. 

“The Dark Forest and Fairy Kingdom allies, at _last_!  What a day for making history!” 

The fairy cocked her head at the squat, red-headed, and beady-eyed creature with two broken off horns above her temples. 

“And you are…?”

“My mother.”  Bog sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Griselda!”  The goblin in question supplied, with a curtsy.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, your majesty.”  Queen Marianne responded with a deep bow.

“Oh, _my_!”  Griselda giggled, and cupped her wrinkled cheeks like a child.  “Oh, you don’t have to call me that, sweetheart!  I haven’t been queen in years!  But thank you for being so polite!  A queen _and_ an accomplished warrior with _excellent_ manners!  Isn’t she _amazing_ , Bog?”

“Uh…”

Well, as per usual where his mother was concerned, the situation fell right into the awkward zone, and both monarchs wordlessly shuffled their feet and cleared their throats, while Griselda just stood there grinning at them. 

“I, er…should…,” the fairy stammered, “…probably be getting back home now.”

 _That_ made his mother’s grin vanish.

“Oh, no!  You can’t go _yet_ , dear!”

“Huh?  I-I just need to make sure my sister-”

“Gets the good news?  We can send her a message!”

“Oh, that’s…very sweet of you, but I wouldn’t want to put you to any-”

“It’s no trouble at all, dew drop!  Besides, you have those paper to sign!”

“Mom,” Bog cut in, “what are ye doin’?  Those can wait ‘til- OW!”

The Fairy Queen blinked in astonishment as the Bog King stumbled and rubbed the thorny shin his mother had just swatted. 

“Also, you're bleeding, honey!”

Bog looked up in alarm at _that_ statement, but Marianne cocked her head in confusion, at least until Grisedla pointed at her right hand.  Glancing down, her eyes widened when she saw that she’d torn the skin off of her two middle knuckles and the back of her fingers were smeared with blood. 

“Oh…oops.”

Bog’s stomach twisted.  She must’ve cut her hand on his face when she’d punched him.  How could he have missed the smell of _blood_?  Had he really been so absorbed in their fight he hadn’t realized she was injured?

“It’s no big deal.”  The fairy shrugged, breaking him from his thoughts.  “Trust me, I’ve had way worse.”

“I insist you stay until we treat it properly!”  Griselda said, already taking the queen by the left wrist and tugging her along with Bog to another passage.  “You don’t wanna get an infection!  They can be quite nasty out here!”

For such a short goblin, Bog’s mother had incredible strength, and she dragged the two of them behind her, without letting either have a chance to get a word in edgewise, all the way to the dining room.  On the way, she even barked at a passing servant to bring her a bandage roll and a bottle of ointment on the double.

“W-wait!”  Marianne protested as she was steered into a chair.  “What about my message to my sister?”

“Don’t worry, dear!  The mushrooms will-!”

“Mother!  The mushrooms take too long, and they’ll probably mess it up by the time it gets to the border.  _You_ know that!  Send a bottle fly!”

Griselda frowned, but grumbled out a “fine” before perking at the sight of the wheezing servant from earlier, slumped against the doorframe and holding out the medical supplies she’d requested.   She practically skipped to the poor, winded fellow, swiped the items, and shooed him away. 

Resigned, Marianne situated herself expectantly as Griselda approached her, but at the last possible second, the former queen turned to Bog, stuffed everything into his hands, and said in a rush:

“Well-here-you-go-dear-I’m-sure-you-can-handle-this-without-me-I-better-see-to-that-message- _toodleloo_!” 

And with that, she was gone in a flash; faint snickers echoing after her. 

The goblin and fairy were frozen and speechless.  When their eyes met, they might as well have been a pair of deer on the alert.  The atmosphere was heavy and yet too thin at the same time.  Eventually, Bog coughed and chewed his lip while Marianne fiddled with the hem of her tunic and shifted in her seat.

“Look, it’s…really nothing.”  She murmured, brushing that lock of hair out of her face again.  “You don’t need to-”   

“No, it’s alright.  I dorn’t mind.” 

He wasn’t sure why he said that, or why it was _true_.  He was the _king_!  It wasn’t his job to play nursemaid.  Especially to a _fairy_! 

But…

…he couldn’t help feeling responsible.  Punching was perfectly acceptable during a fight, and…

.

.

.

… _normal_ goblin skin wouldn’t have done this to her.

So, with his mind made up, he flexed his shoulder scales and strode over to kneel in front of her.  He uncorked the bottle and tore a small strip of cloth from the roll.  Once he’d poured some of the ointment onto the bandage, he gingerly took her hand into his much larger one. 

“This might sting a little.”

As gently as he could, he dabbed at the wound, cleaning off all the blood and bacteria.  Her fingers twitched a bit, but she didn’t make a sound nor any other kind of movement.  He scarcely even heard her breathe, but he kept his eyes glued to his task, not wishing to raise his head and undoubtedly see a veiled expression of disgust at being touched by a monster like him. 

By the time he’d finished disinfecting her knuckles and began to carefully wrap her hand, he was fed up with the suffocating quiet and struggled to come up with something (anything) to say.

Luckily, she beat him to it.

“I can’t believe this is happening.”        

!!!

 


	6. Chapter 6

Startled at her words, Bog’s head shot up in confusion, leaving barely an inch of space separating them.

“ _What_?”

“The-the _alliance_!”  She stammered, obviously flustered, but she cleared her throat and shifted in her seat to regain composure, as Bog, embarrassed at invading her personal space, quickly leaned away. 

“I’ve been, um……dreaming about this…ever since I was a little girl.”

He searched her face, before awkwardly continuing his work.

“Ye have strange dreams, fairy.”

“Is it strange to want what’s best for my people?”

“Depends on what yer definition of ‘best’ is.”

“You agreed to this!”

He met her gaze firmly.

“I _did_ , but make no mistake, jus’ because I agreed to form an alliance doesn’t mean the Dark Forest is yer playground.  Ye’ve proven _yerself_ to be worthy of my respect, but I will not trust a kingdom of strangers.  Along with upholdin’ my laws regardin’ the Primroses and Love, _no_ fairy or elf will be permitted to enter my territory without my permission.  Is that understood?”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“ _Perfectly_.  And the same will apply to _your_ people when it comes to the Fairy Kingdom.  I trust all this will be explicitly covered in those papers I have to sign?”

“ _We_ have to sign; an' _yes_.” 

A tense silence prevailed for a long moment, until Bog began to regret the tone he’d used, and decided to change the subject. 

“I’m……sorry about this.”  He said, nodding to her hand.

“ _You’re_ sorry?”  She repeated incredulously, and with a slight giggle.  “ _I’m_ the one that punched _you_ in the jaw!”

_Yes, but no other goblin has a face like mine._

“No, ye fought honorably, but I know that fairy skin isn’t as durable as ours.  So, again, I apologize.  Would ye mind if…I gave ye some advice…on how to better protect yer knuckles?  As well as strengthen the force o' yer punches?”

She blinked at him in surprise.

“Uh, s-sure.  I…guess I’d appreciate that.”

By then, he’d finished wrapping her hand and tied off the bandage, but he kept his gentle grip on her wrist as he addressed her again.

“Okay well, first off, even though it is instinctual, the face is probably the worst place to aim a punch at anyone, because it’s an extremely boney area; in fact, the hardest part of yer body is right here.” 

He touched two fingers of his free hand just above the tail-end of his eyebrow. 

“Ye never wanna hit bone.  If ye have to punch someone in the face, go fer the soft part o' the cheek, the point o' the nose, or under the chin.  There’s still no guarantee ye won’t hurt yerself, but those spots will lower the risk.  What can lower the risk even further, is if ye dorn’t punch with yer knuckles.”

She looked puzzled. 

“Don’t punch with my knuckles?  What do you mean?”

Carefully, Bog closed her hand into a loose fist. 

“Look, when ye punch like this, yer punchin' with bone under a thin layer o' skin, but if ye punch like this…”

He opened her palm and gently rearranged her digits to where they were curled in with the thumb tucked at the side.

“…an' strike with the meat o' yer hand, ye protect yer fingers an' give yerself a sort o' fleshy cushion upon impact.  Ye also lessen the probability of hurtin’ yer wrist, because it’s more like punchin’ with yer whole arm instead o' yer hand.  It’s a safer method an' usually results in more powerful hits.  If _you_ in particular use this technique, I’ll bet ye could knock down a tree!”

Chuckling, Bog lifted her hand and pressed it against his cheek, to demonstrate the move in slow motion, without thinking through the action.  The second he realized it, the room seemed to be close to spinning and had grown uncomfortably warmer.  Judging by her frozen, wide eyed expression, she was fully aware of his blunder. 

Agitated, Bog dropped her hand like it was a hot coal and nearly leapt to his feet, striding around the dining table to put as much distance between the two of them without coming off as impolite.

What in the blazes was wrong with him?  Why was he acting so _ridiculous_?!

_Calm down!  Yer jus' no' used to being around a fairy, that’s all._

He was distracted by the sound of her cough.

“This is…ah……this is…a charming castle.”  She said, glancing around.  “The architecture’s quite nice……and I like this room.  It’s very homey.”

“Oh, er…thank ye.  My father built it as a symbol o' his rule, an' as a weddin' gift to my mother.”

Something crossed her features, as if she was recalling an unpleasant memory, but she covered it with a laugh.

“Now I feel pretty dull in comparison.  Our castle’s just a giant rock!” 

“That’s not so bad, is it?”  He smiled.  “Solid structure, hard fer enemies to spot?”

“Well, yes, I suppose that _is_ true.”  

“And, as I’ve heard, it’s much more impressive on the _inside_.”

She paused for a beat, eyeing him curiously, but gave a small grin.

“Yeah.  A bit garish for my personal taste.  It’s not nearly as warm and inviting as it is in here.”

“Heh, well I’d perfer if ye wouldn’t go spreadin’ that around, yer majesty.  We goblins would still like to keep as much o' our reputation as possible.”

She teasingly lifted her chin.

“Oh, don’t worry.  That entrance of yours _almost_ gave me second thoughts.  Ever considered rethinking it?”

“No' on yer life!  That skull is all that’s left o' my first kill.”

Amused, she hummed in reply and took a minute to observe her chair and the rest of the decor in the room.

“I see bones are a common material you use.”

“Yes, since we’re mostly carnivorous, we try to use as much o' the animal as we can.  We use the meat fer food, o' course, the skins fer cloaks in the winter, the bones fer furniture an' tools, an' the blood an' marrow fer medicines.  After that, we favor wood because, well clearly, there’s an endless supply.”

She snickered, but practically oozed rapt interest.

“That’s fascinating!  Is there any-?”

But her question was interrupted by the abrupt entrance of Stuff and Thang, bearing a handful of documents, as well as an ink-pot and quill.   

“Here they are, B.K.!”  Stuff announced as she and her partner spread everything on the table.  “Sorry for the wait!”

Bog bit back a retort as he picked up the quill and chose to focus on making all the necessary edits to accommodate the special nature of the new arrangement, rather than why he was even annoyed in the first place. 

When he was done, he passed the treaty to the Fairy Queen and quietly stood by as she thoroughly read it over.  Once she was satisfied, she signed her name at the bottom, and Bog did the same as well as dating it. 

“Wonderful!  Now, it’s _completely_ official!”

Both monarchs jumped and whirled around to see that Griselda had returned, and Stuff and Thang were nowhere in sight.

Bog glared at his mother.  Sometimes, he really _hated_ that she’d been a stealth hunter in her youth.   

“Mother, fer the millionth time,” he growled, “knock when ye enter a room!”

“Don’t be silly, dear!”  She dismissed, brushing past him.  “How can I knock when there’s no door?”

“Ye could no' come in at all!”

“And don’t be so rude!  We have a guest!”  She half-heartedly scolded, before winking at said guest.  “Please excuse my son.  He doesn’t always have the best manners.  Gets that from his father.”

“Mom!”

“But he _did_ do a beautiful job on your hand!  He can be very _tender_ and _thoughtful_ , wouldn’t you say?”

“ _MOTHER_!” 

Marianne blushed, but Griselda ignored both the reaction _and_ her son.

“Well, darling,” she went on, “we sent your message and the bottle fly just came back.  Your sister said she’s gathering the council members to the court as we speak, but she won’t tell them what it’s about.  She thinks _you_ should do the honors.”

“Excellent!”  The queen exclaimed, turning to Bog.  “That’s _exactly_ what I told her to do if things went well.” 

Bog vaguely wondered what her plan would’ve been if things had gone the other way.

“Your majesty,” she resumed, “if it pleases you, I would very much like it if you accompanied me to address the court.  You may bring as many goblins as you see fit.  I wish to make my subjects aware of the alliance as soon as possible.”

The king couldn’t help feeling somewhat hesitant.  Weren’t they going…sort of fast? 

However, the news was already spreading among the goblins, so it would be fair for the fairies and elves to find out today.  And she’d given permission for him to bring an entourage for protection in case there was trouble.

“Mother, tell Brutus an' Gus to select a team o' eight more guards to accompany us to the Fairy Kingdom.  Have them mounted up an' ready outside.”

“Of course, sweetheart!”  Griselda agreed before taking the fairy’s uninjured hand and giving it a pat.  “It was a pleasure to meet you, honey!  Come visit us again, as soon as you can!”  

Once the gobliness hurried off, Bog folded the papers and handed them to Marianne.

“I imagine they’ll want to examine those.  I’ll be sure to draw up a duplicate, so we’ll both have a copy fer our archives.”

“Good idea.”  She stated and tucked everything into a hidden pocket under one of the layers of her tunic. 

“Come along,” he then instructed, leading the way out of the dining room but down a different hallway than the one they’d come from.  “Since time is o' the essence, an' this is a diplomatic occasion, we’ll have to travel in _style_.”

“Style?  What do you-?”

“Ye’ll see.”

He didn’t say anything else until they’d reached one of the castle’s side exits, where a large, flat, and smooth stone was pressed into the ground.

“Now, stand back,” he whispered, stepping to the edge of the makeshift floor, “an' try to stay calm an' still.”

With that, he brought his fingers to his mouth and a loud, shrill whistle pierced the air. 


	7. Chapter 7

For a few beats, there was nothing but silence.  The Bog King didn’t seem the least bit fazed, and merely whistled a second time.  Marianne wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but it certainly _wasn’t_ an abrupt quartet of high-pitched screeches, echoing through the woods in reply, followed by a dark, teardrop shaped creature to come shooting towards them from a sizable gap in the Dark Forest trees.

A flare of huge, black and white, feathered wings, and the slam of razor sharp talons on the stone, revealed the identity of their mysterious arrival.

Terrified, Marianne planted her back to the castle wall.  While it was true that birds of prey were not really dangerous to fairies and elves, since they were much too small to make a satisfying meal, it was still unnerving to be so close to such a _large_ species of her people’s natural predator. 

“Is-?  Is th-that a…a…?”

“His name is Orion,” the Bog King said, and reached up to scratch its neck, “my peregrine falcon.”

“H-how-?  _How_ did you _ever_ …?”

“We goblins raised him from an egg.  They’re very intelligent, so not so difficult to train.”

He looked to her then, and right away, noticed her position and the pale mask of fear on her face.

“It’s alright.”  He stated in a rush, but gently.  “He worn’t hurt ye.  I can assure ye, he’s very tame.  Come see.”

Marianne bit her lip, but the king’s confidence and encouragement prompted her to approach carefully.  Her feet inched across the ground as she made her way over, but the joints in her wings were taunt, ready to make her escape at any second.  She only froze when the falcon cocked its head and peered at her with those fathomless, obsidian eyes. 

“Lift yer hand to him.”  The Bog King instructed. 

Forcing herself not to tremble, she slowly raised her hand, palm forward.  The bird blinked at her and leaned closer at the gesture.  Marianne tried to keep herself as still as she could and _not_ think about getting her arm torn clean off as the falcon analyzed her for the longest pause. 

Perhaps that was why her knees almost gave when she felt the soft nudge of a beak under her lax fingers.

A warmth filled her chest and she gaped as this apex predator brushed over her palm, making her pet him.  She took the hint and risked another step forward to stroke the bird in earnest.  The king eagerly joined her.

“He’s…beautiful.”  She whispered with a fond smile.  “…You said you raised him from an egg?”

“We found his mother wounded in the forest, some years ago.”  The Bog King explained.  “My healers tried everythin’, but it was already too late.  We tracked her nest an’ there was only one egg inside.  The father was nowhere in sight.  Ye see, the male usually incubates the egg while the female searches fer food.  We suspect he must’ve been killed too.  So, we took the egg in.  Didn’t we, Orion?  That’s a good boy.”      

Orion made a pleased chirruping sound at the double attention, and practically nuzzled his cheeks against their sides. 

“Is that all you use him for; transportation?”  She asked, giggling slightly at the falcon’s affection.

“Only when venturing into unfamiliar territory.  It sends a strong message.  Sometimes, we may use him fer war, but personally, I prefer not to, unless it’s a last resort.  His kind are so rare an’ highly respected among my people, we let him roam free an’ just call him if we need him.  In return, he keeps the forest safe an’ will signal us if there’s any large-scale danger comin', like a storm or a fire.” 

“That’s _amazing_.”

He grinned at her impression, but all too soon, they were interrupted by the appearance of two spindly limbed goblins carrying what seemed to be a saddle and bridle.  Both monarchs stepped aside as one of the servants strapped the handsome saddle in place atop Orion’s neck just above his wing juncture, while the other slipped the brown leather loop around the cere of his beak, settling it far back enough so that he could open his mouth somewhat and be comfortably guided.  Two holes were punctured through the material directly over his nares, allowing him to breathe. 

In the meantime, Marianne racked her brain for something to say, but was distracted by the whir of dragonfly wings as the entourage came zipping around the corner of the castle and waited a few yards away for their master to mount. 

The Bog King did just that; grabbing the reins and flying up onto Orion’s back, even as the bird bent to accommodate him.  He adjusted his seat and tested his control, carefully tugging his falcon’s head left, right, and back, praising the animal as he went. 

But the whole time, Marianne was paralyzed in awe.    

She’d never seen anything so…… _majestic_ in her whole life.  Was _this_ what a _real_ king looked like?  Her wonder was so great, she didn’t quite hear him address her.

“Yer majesty?”

“Erm, uh…” she stammered, collecting herself, “yes?”

“I said, ye can get on him now.”

The king turned Orion to the side for her, and Marianne blinked in disbelief.

“You want… _me_ to get on _with_ you?”

“Well, I think I’d look like quite the arse to yer kingdom if I made ye fly on yer own while the rest o' us ride.”  He chuckled.  “Besides, it’s great fun...if yer no' _scared_ , that is.”

Starting at the tease, Marianne drew herself up and scoffed playfully.

“Psh!  I’m not _scared_ of anything, your _majesty_!  I should think that’d be perfectly obvious by now.”

With that, she proudly flew up to sit behind him in the saddle, and did her best not to dwell on the strange tickle in her stomach as she scooted close to him and wrapped her arms around his narrow waist.  She grabbed her wrists to make the intimate proximity as less awkward as possible. 

The king’s shoulder scales twitched and he coughed before calling out to his goblins.

“Listen up!  We’re headin’ to the Fairy Kingdom!  I want _no_ signs o' aggression!  No bared teeth, no growlin’!  But stay close an’ stay _alert_!  Once we cross the border, I want ye all to fly above me until I give the signal to land!  Is that _understood_?!”

The entourage roared in agreement, and the Bog King glanced at Marianne with a smirk.

“Are ye ready, Tough Girl?”

“Always.”

“Then brace yerself; it’s gonna get windy.”

He made a sweeping motion with his staff, and the goblins spurred their dragonflies to the left, in a rapid, upward spiral.  Barely a second passed, and he then clenched his knees as he slapped the reins hard and shouted: 

“ ** _YA_**!!!”    

A surprised yelp, followed by a curse, made it past Marianne’s lips as Orion spread his mighty wings and instantly took off into the air with a speed and force she’d never experienced.  Her heart pounded and she instinctually tightened her grip around the Bog King and leaned forward with him as they climbed higher and higher.  Moss covered branches whipped past them in a blur and the air rose to a scream in her ears.  She couldn’t help tensing and screwing her eyes shut.

Then, without warning, their momentum slowed a bit and there was a moment of weightlessness as Orion evened out.  Sensing the unobstructed heat of the summer sunlight on her skin, she cracked an eye open and her jaw dropped in fascination at the sights around her. 

They’d breached the Dark Forest’s canopy and could see for _miles_ in every direction!  The vast, lush treetops of the east, the tremendous far off northern mountain range, and dead ahead in the distance, the green, rolling fields of her home.  The sky was an ocean.  She’d never seen so much of it at once.  And the sun was _blinding_ in its bare, divine splendor! 

Something dormant stirred in her breast and she felt the sting of reverent tears.  Who could’ve ever imagined such incredible loveliness existed in this world?

The thought was just beginning to fade from her mind when her gaze fell on the two limp, transparent appendages resting on her right leg.

Tilting her head, she studied the Bog King’s four wings.  She’d always suspected that the rumors about a winged goblin ruling the Dark Forest was just a myth, but she was glad to have been proven wrong.  They were so unusual; relying on rapid vibration for flight rather than flapping and using gusts of air to glide.  And they were so tattered!  She wondered how many fights he’d endured to earn those tears and holes. 

Then there was his body.

The armored plates covering his torso might easily be labeled as insectile.  From what she could feel on her forearms, they had the texture of bark, and were nicked and ashy. 

His feet were very oddly shaped, and his legs were covered in tiny thorns, like the ones she’d seen on his chin.  Were they his equivalent of hair?  But if that was so, what were those leafy things on his scalp?

She had so many other questions, she wished she could thoroughly examine him, but she banished the idea pretty much as soon as it formed with a blush.  She was not a doctor, and this was definitely _not_ the time nor the place to think of… _touching_ the Bog King.  He’d likely think it was extremely rude.       

Yet, in spite of the differences she saw, it _was_ interesting how many similarities there were in their anatomy:  non-webbed ears, ten fingers, ten toes, wings…

Speaking of which, suddenly, the sunlight hit said wings, and Marianne’s breath caught at the flash of iridescent rainbow colors in the membrane, making each of them glint like otherworldly gemstones.  The glare shimmered before her eyes as she then observed the goblins flanking them on their steeds; soaring in a perfect V formation over the magnificent earth. 

And _she_ was accompanying them, after reaching out and successfully securing an alliance.  All on her own. 

…It had been months since she felt like such a _powerful_ queen!

Overwhelmed, she forgot herself and absently pressed her cheek against the Bog King’s rough spine.


	8. Chapter 8

Almost the second her cheek brushed against the ridge between his wings stalks, the Bog King violently flinched, causing him to yank on Orion’s reins accidentally, and Marianne clenched her arms tight while biting down a cry of alarm as the falcon quickly fought to regain his even glide. 

“Your majesty?!”  She heard one of the goblin riders anxiously call over the roar of the wind.  

But the king merely waved him off and shifted in the saddle, hunching his spikey shoulders and settling his wings back down. 

Marianne’s cheeks were ablaze.  How could she have been so thoughtless?  What in the name of creation was wrong with her today? 

Ever since their fight, she’d felt somewhat off.  Of course, she was thrilled that she’d succeeded in her goal, but…there was more to it than that, and heaven help her if she knew what.  It wasn’t bad; at least, she didn’t think so.  It was akin to that detached, muted, nagging feeling one would get when they might’ve forgotten something, but weren’t entirely sure.  Stranger than that, it was coupled with the same bubbling sensation she used to get in her chest when she was a child learning how to fly for the first time. 

Her eyes fell on her bandaged knuckles and a small smile lifted her lips. 

When she’d decided to pursue this dangerous venture, she’d been prepared for much worse than she found.  She couldn’t say she hadn’t been _worried_ at the initial refusal, but she was a fairy on a mission, and _nothing_ was going to stop her from achieving her dream, especially after she’d finally gotten the guts to get so close.

The most surprising thing of all was the Bog King himself. 

Appearance, manner, skill.  All of it was unexpected, and painted a far different picture than the one she’d been warned about her whole life.  He was a warrior, and fought her as a fierce equal, and yet he’d been so gentle as he wrapped her hand and gave her advice without a trace of condescension in his tone nor face.  She’d never known anyone like him before.      

Still, none of that gave her the right to lose all of her focus and lean into him in such a familiar way. 

…No matter how kind and understanding he’d been. 

He was her new ally; her _peer_.  Not some dear friend or family member she’d known for years!

Her critical thoughts were broken by the sound of the Bog King clearing his throat. 

“Y-ye alright back there?”

“Oh!  Yes, ye-yes, I’m _fine_!”

“Ah…good.  Um……we should be reachin’ the Fairy Kingdom in another minute or two.”

“O-okay… _great_!”

“…Yeah.”

The following silence was terribly awkward.  Marianne debated with herself about what to say next.  Should she apologize for the…spine thing?  _Could_ she apologize for doing something that made absolutely no logical sense whatsoever?  Or should she just not say a word and let it go?

Luckily, the decision was taken out of her hands by the king introducing a new topic.

“So……if ye fairies don’t ride birds, what _do_ ye ride on special occasions?”      

“…Well, typically, the royal family will ride in a litter.”

“A _what_?  Ye ride on baby mammals?”

“No, no, no!  It’s another word for a small carriage without any wheels!  There’s poles on the bottom so some of the guards can carry us!  We’ll use a litter if we’re traveling great distances; otherwise, we use a sedan chair!  That’s kind of like a portable throne!” 

“Huh, that’s interestin’!”

“The elves will use dragonflies and horseflies, same as your goblins!  With our wings, we fairies usually don’t need to ride anything, but occasionally we use squirrels or young rabbits, even lizards if we can train them well enough, for ground patrol! ‘It sends a strong message’! 

He laughed at her reusing his own words, and the sound did a marvelous job of chasing away her earlier anxiety.

Unfortunately, it returned right away, but not for the same reason.

The Fairy Kingdom was coming up fast, and she was growing more and more nervous about the fact that no one but her sister knew of her little excursion today.  She certainly didn’t want to incite a panic.  Until now, goblins entering the Fairy Kingdom was not a good sign.

Again, as if she and the Bog King were on the same wavelength, he made a swirling gesture with his staff, and just as the entourage crossed the border, the goblin riders steered their dragonflies directly above Orion, making them practically invisible from the terrain, and leaving only the bird’s shadow racing along the grass.

Of course!  A reprieve.  Her people would be wary of a falcon, but it would not draw as much attention as a crow or a blue jay.  This way, they could slip straight to the castle and settle things with the council first, _then_ inform the public.

“Which way, yer majesty?”

Marianne stretched up to peer around the Bog King’s side, and scanned the grassy plain.

“Hang left!  Towards that grove of sycamores and look for the boulder!  You can’t miss it; it’s the only one!”

“Got it!” 

He tugged the reins in the appropriate direction while nudging Orion with his heels, swung his staff in a downward motion, and the entire entourage began its descent. 

A mile or two off on her right, Marianne saw them passing the slated, wooden roofs of the Elf Village by the river.  She was glad they were not in their direct path; the elves and brownies had a much longer and bloodier history with the goblins than the fairies.  _Their_ general discovery of the new alliance would have to be handled as gently as possible.     

In a matter of seconds, the Fairy Kingdom castle was finally visible among the sea of orange poppies.  As the distance rapidly decreased, it occurred to her:

“We don’t have a landing spot large enough for Orion, so I suggest you just perch directly on top of the rock!”

“Will do!  Hang on!”

They soared to the peak of the boulder, but just before Orion tilted his body to reach out with his talons, Marianne heard a yell and her stomach dropped.

“ _Goblins_!  We’re under attack!”  

She recognized the voice of General Lucas barking orders to the guards.  Dawn must’ve not had enough time to warn him. 

“Sound the alarm!”

For some odd reason, she found that rather humorous as the clang of a bell broke through the air.  They’d had so many years of peace, the noise would mean anything from a school assembly to a storm warning before anyone would even _guess_ an invasion. 

The goblins, however, we not as amused.  They nervously hovered over the castle on their dragonflies as Orion struggled to get his bearings. 

“Sire?”  One of them asked; the toothy, bulgy-eyed one.  Thang?  Or what it Stuff?  It was hard for her to tell for sure.

“Dorn’t move!”  The Bog King commanded as he wrestled with Orion’s reins to steady him. 

“But sire-!”

“I said, _don’t_ bloody _move_!” 

The exchange, plus Orion’s jerky bobbing, distracted Marianne enough so that the next shout from below made her heart freeze.

“Archers, at the ready…!  Aim…!” 

She immediately sprang into action; releasing her grip on the Bog King and shooting into the air to see a group of about thirty fairy guards pointing their deadly arrows up at the goblin entourage.  Flaring her wings so the sun would hit them, making it impossible for her _not_ to be seen, she screamed at the top of her lungs: 

“STAND DOWN!”

And just like a ripple on a pond, the danger dissipated, but she wished she could say the same for the confusion and shock as a mixture of fairy guard voices spoke over each other.

“Hold your fire!  Hold your fire, it’s the _queen_!”

“Impossible!”

“It is!”

“ _Look_!”

“Lower your weapons!” 

“What’s happening?”

“I don’t know!”

“At ease, men!” 

At last, Orion calmed, and the fairy guards backed off, but all that left, was an oppressive quiet as thick as tree sap…and the _staring_. 

Lots and _lots_ of staring.

.

.

.

She _almost_ preferred to face the arrows again. 

Only General Lucas was brave enough to approach her, yet he watched the goblins carefully as they each found a place to perch their steeds on the castle around Orion.   

“Your majesty,” he said, bowing deeply, “forgive me, but what on _earth_ -?”

“All will be explained in due time, General.  Until then, the goblins are our esteemed _guests_ , and you will _not_ harm them.  _Understand_?”

Lucas opened his mouth as if to protest, but her glare killed any protest he had, and he instead bowed again.

“Yes, my queen.”

She turned to go, but the general’s low whisper gave her pause.

“My lady, are you quite… _certain_ all is well?”

Looking at him, she saw that his eyes were on her injured hand. 

She curled it into a fist.

“ ** _Yes_** , General.”  She assured him, putting more firm conviction in her voice than she’d ever used in her six years as sole ruler.  

* * *

A few moments later, after leaving two fanged and burly goblins behind to attend to Orion and the dragonflies, Marianne led the Bog King and the rest of his entourage past the baffled soldiers and into the grand foyer of her castle.  At this time of the afternoon, the servants would be busy in the deeper rooms, preparing for evening activities such as dinner and games in the parlor, so she wasn’t too concerned about running into any delicate, unsuspecting chamber maids or anything.      

She snuck a few glances at the king as his cornflower blue eyes combed over the polished floors, gold-accented walls, the water fountain, and the single stained glass skylight that poured a rainbow of colors into the space. 

Curiosity gnawed at her.  She longed to know his impression of her home.  What was he thinking?  Was it too gaudy?  Or did he see a charm in it, as _she_ had with his imposing fortress?

Well, whatever he thought, she’d have to find out later.     

“Wait here, please.”  She instructed when they reached the long hall leading to the council chamber.  “I’m going to make sure everything’s in order and that they’re all in assembly.” 

He only grunted in agreement, and she hurried down the corridor.  Her fingers barely touched the handle of the double doors when there was a noise to her left.

“Pst!  Marianne!”

Whirling around, she saw Dawn peeking out from around a pillar.  When they made eye contact, the blonde jogged to her sister’s side, arms laden with an elegant burgundy cape and the crown.

“I knew you wouldn’t have time to change,” she explained, handing the items over, “so I grabbed these from your wardrobe.  Your pixies weren’t happy about it.  And yes, before you ask, they’re all in there; perplexed and inquisitive as can be!” 

Marianne smirked fondly at Dawn.  There once was a time when _she_ took care of _her_ , as was her responsibility being the older sibling; but ever since she became queen, Dawn had shown such maturity, apart from the near-constant flirting, and was always the one who _she_ could rely on the most these days.    

“What would I do without you, Dawn?”

“You couldn’t and you know it.”

Chuckling, Marianne nodded at her in thanks and focused on quickly donning her regalia, but she nearly jumped out of her skin when Dawn suddenly let out a loud, drawn-out gasp of awe. 

“Oh my God, is that _him_?!”  Her sister hissed, frantically pointing down the hallway to the atrium and bouncing on her heels.

“Yes.”  Marianne replied, shaking her head at her antics.  “Yes, that’s him.”

She tried to go back to fussing with her cape, but was prevented by Dawn seizing her shoulders and giving them a wild shake as she squeaked like a mouse. 

“You did it!  You _did_ it!  I can’t _believe_ it!  Oh, this is so _exciting_!”  She gushed, peering around Marianne to gape at the legendary Bog King and his subjects.  “…He’s not as scary-looking as I thought he’d be.  I mean, he _is_ intimidating, but…there’s something kinda… _cute_ about him, don’t you think?” 

Marianne coughed and adjusted her crown.  Great, that’s _just_ what she needed: _another_ member if the male species for her sister to think of as _cute_.

“Dawn, I really-”

But her response was cut off when she noticed the princess starting to move towards the hall. 

“Hey!”  She exclaimed, seizing her arm.  “What are you _doing_?”

“Going to say hello!”

“Dawn, we don’t have _time_ for that now; the court’s waiting!  Go on in, will you?”

The blonde pouted, but had to give in with an impatient huff.

“Ugh, _fine_!  But when we’re done, you owe me a _proper_ introduction!”

Marianne shook her head as her sister strode away and vanished into the council chamber.  Thank goodness she’d thwarted _that_ potential fiasco.  She didn’t think the goblins would appreciate meeting ‘hurricane Dawn’ right off the cuff, even if she was harmless.  This whole situation was nerve-wracking and delicate enough _without_ a sparkly, high-energy, bubble of perpetual happiness that wanted to hug and make friends with every being in sight.  Such skills would be very helpful _later_ , but certainly not at the moment.   

With her accoutrements in place, Marianne rushed back to the Bog King with as much dignity as she could muster, given the circumstances, but she wasn’t sure why she had the peculiar urge to fidget when his gaze intently, but politely, swept up and down her form, taking in her now more regal dress. 

She gave him a challenging grin.

“Shall we?”

He returned it.   

“After _you_.”

The entourage followed the two monarchs to the end of the passage, and with a deep breath, Marianne set her jaw and pushed open the chamber doors.    


	9. Chapter 9

When Bog entered the council chamber, several paces behind the Fairy Queen, he was fully expecting the sharp gasps and expressions of shock from the members, despite his presence being announced only moments before.  He was not disappointed.  The Dark Forest’s reputation preceded them. 

The room was a spacious, two-story, stone rotunda with a lofty dome ceiling and a sort of seating gallery of polished mahogany on the upper level for the court.  Aside from Princess Dawn and the quartet of armed fairy guards, he counted ten members.  Four fairies, four elves, and two brownies.  Of the fairies, there were three males, two of which were much older.  The elves were more evenly paired: a young male and female, and an elder couple.  He didn’t know enough about brownies to guess their sex or ages at a distant glance.

Either way, despite gender _or_ age, their reactions were all the same.    

Shock, horror, disgust, and perhaps a touch of hesitant wonder on a select few.  They murmured their disbelief and fear as they squirmed in their high seats. 

Bog’s goblins flanked him protectively, and though they scowled and drew themselves to their full height, they still heeded his instructions to keep their fangs concealed and their growls silent.  Intimidation _without_ blatant hostility. 

But as king, Bog was extra perceptive.  He saw how the majority of the council’s wide-eyed stares of dread and revulsion were aimed at him specifically. 

His claws made a tiny scraping sound as he tightened his grip on his royal staff.  Being gawked at was something he was unfortunately familiar with, but if it would keep their prejudiced eyes off of his subjects, then so be it.  The predator in him perked his ears to their strongest reception, and he could make out the hushed whispers in the air above him:

_By the Sun, is that him?_

_So the legends were true!_

_A winged goblin!_

_Never seen anything like it._

_He’s more like some kind of insect._

_What a hideous creature!_

_...hideous..._

_...hideous..._

_... **HIDEOUS**..._

Bog swallowed the viscous growl in his throat, as well as the myriad of stinging memories from years long past, and glared back at the ogling faces in defiance.

_That’s right, ye pompous maggots; get a good look.  Better hideous and strong than comely and weak._

Yet their queen is...

“Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen of the council.”  Said Fairy Queen greeted in a clear, firm voice which broke Bog from his thoughts.  “Thank you for assembling so promptly.”

There was a tense pause, as if the addressed members were taking a moment to realize that this was indeed waking reality not a nightmare. 

“Your majesty,” one of the older male fairies tightly spoke in a tone that suggested he was highly scandalized, like a parent that had just witnessed their child willfully committing a taboo, “ _what_ is the _meaning_ of this?”

Bog noted, with some amusement, that the queen seemed to raise her chin somewhat smugly.

“I’d hoped that would be rather _obvious_ , Argyle, but I’m happy to explain.” 

Even with his face half obscured by a snow-white beard, Bog could see that this Argyle’s detestation was plain.  A feeling that was apparently shared by the council’s other elder fairy, judging from the way the two glanced at each other in indignation.

_So she has dissension in her midst.  Interesting..._

“Allow me to introduce our esteemed guests.”  The queen announced, taking a single step to the side so she could grandly, but politely, gesture to her company.  “The almighty Bog King of the Dark Forest and his loyal entourage.”

As Bog nodded stiffly, more hissed words of confusion and anxiety were exchanged among the court.

“They have come here at my request,” Queen Marianne continued, “so that I may inform you all, with absolute certainty, that we have reached the dawning of a new age in history.  As of today, our kingdoms have been joined in an alliance.”

The declaration was met with a ripple of blatant astonishment and alarm, which was bothersome, yet far tamer than the pandemonium Bog had been expecting.   

However, the queen was unfazed.

“A few hours ago, I sought an audience with the Bog King, and after a brief _discussion_ ,” she gave Bog a small, quick grin, “I explained my reasoning for seeking such an arrangement, and his majesty was gracious enough to accept my proposal.  The exact terms shall be defined at a later date, but at the very least the trade lines shall be reopened.”

By this point, the restless council had dissolved into silent stillness, and they gaped at her as if she’d grown and extra head.  Slowly, the second senior fairy rose from his seat and peered down hard at the queen.

“Do you mean to say, my lady, that you entered the Dark Forest _alone_ , unarmed, and without informing _anyone_ as to your whereabouts?”

“Not quite, Marcus.  I _did_ go alone, but _not_ unarmed.”  She replied, sweeping back her cloak to reveal her sword still lashed to her left hip.  “And as for not informing anyone, Princess Dawn was made aware of my intentions.”

Marcus traded a look with Argyle that made Bog’s wings twitch.  Something about them reminded him of vipers. 

“I see,” Marcus noted, leaning further over the ledge, “and in doing so, you’ve obtained...a truly _unique_ alliance.  I’m sure most of us never dreamed we’d live to see the day we’d accommodate those who’d mindlessly slaughtered our ancestors.”

Snarling in anger, Bog shot straight into the air, provoking frightened cries from the court as they shrank back in their chairs.  Baring his teeth, Bog pointed the amber crown of his staff straight at Marcus’s ashen face. 

“If ye want to compare causality rates,” he spat with contempt, “ye’ll find my people to have a very long an'  _detailed_ memory.  I can _still_ smell the goblin _blood_ on fairy hands, so dorn’t ye think fer one minute that _yer_ the innocent party!”

For what could’ve been an eternity, Marcus, Argyle, and all the rest of the fairies, elves, and brownies, huddled together and trembled beneath his fierce glower, until a soft and warm hand covered Bog’s and gently guided him to lower his weapon. 

“But we’re not here to count the scars of the past.”  The queen stated calmly, flying by Bog’s side.  “We’re here to move forward into a better _future_ for everyone.  To build and to grow; together.  There’s no sense in division, not when we can benefit so much more through unity.  That same unity is what led the elves and brownies to coexist, and then the fairies when we first migrated to these lands.  And the various goblin tribes are united under their king.  If we can all show the same acceptance amongst ourselves, we can show it to our neighbors.  What say you to this, my friends?”

Though his previous irritation remained intact, Bog was impressed by the Fairy Queen’s control, as well as her wisdom and encouragement.  He saw several young member’s faces gradually drain of terror and take on a genuinely curious and contemplative demeanor.  However, the only ones that appeared to be unmoved by the speech were Argyle and Marcus. 

Smoothly, Argyle stood and folded his hands in front of his round belly. 

“What do we say?”  He shrugged, far too relaxed for Bog’s liking.  “I do believe our dear queen has given us no choice in the matter.”

The queen’s hand fell from Bog’s, leaving an odd chill in its wake.

“I beg your pardon?”  She asked, and Bog noticed her puzzlement.

Argyle leisurely stroked the end of his beard as Marcus too got back on his feet.

“Why, your majesty has already bypassed the law of court as well as the public’s consideration to bring about this...alliance.”  Marcus explained with a strange smirk.  “We must accept whatever our queen commands.”

“W-wait, I-!”  Queen Marianne began in protest, but Argyle beat her to the punch.

“Yes, for to do otherwise would be treason!”

“ _What_?  Th-that’s not-!”

“Welcome, honorable denizens of the Dark Forest!”  Marcus declared, complete with open arms.  “May our alliance be long and prosperous!” 

Argyle enthusiastically led the applause and quickly, the remaining members got up to hesitantly clap along.  Some with strained smiles, others with nervous grimaces.   

Bog found the whole display to be peculiar and unnecessary, but if it was a good sign, why was the Fairy Queen’s expression so suspicious and unsure?  He would not pretend to understand any culture other than his own, but perhaps this had gone a little _too_ well?

_This is why duels are so much simpler!_

“...Erm......tha-thank you.” The queen finally said, waving her hands for quiet.  “We will...hold another meeting first thing tomorrow morning to discuss the particulars.”

She then turned to Bog fully, and he could see how she was struggling to keep her concern for Argyle and Marcus’s abrupt change in behavior under wraps.

“Do you have any objection to my scribes making copies of the treaty we signed so that I may review them with my council and make revisions if need be?”

“Not at all.”

“Thank you; and now...this has been an incredible day for all of us, so you must be eager to return home and rest, but is there anything else you would like to add before we adjourn?”

Bog thought for several seconds and just _one_ worry seized his mind.  A bitter memory from a spring of primroses and sorrow.   

“I have...one condition...that I _insist_ be upheld if this alliance is to be permanent, yer majesty.  It wasn’t in the treaty because it’s...business of a _personal_ nature.”

Queen Marianne cocked her head at him.

“Of course, my lord.  What is your condition? Name it, and it shall be met.”

Bog took a deep breath and leveled his unflinching gaze into her honey eyes, while still speaking to all present in the chamber.

“I ask......that _no_ one, not even the Fairy Queen herself...question me as to _why_ I closed the border twenty years ago.”   


	10. Chapter 10

Marianne stared at the Bog King, caught completely off guard by his request.  Though she hadn’t given the question any thought all day, it was certainly true that over the years, she had collectively spent many hours wondering why the Dark Forest had abolished the trade lines and shut off its borders so abruptly nearly two decades ago. 

The whole ordeal had been shrouded in mystery.  Now, she’d only been just a toddler at the time, but her father had told her all about the steely letters he’d received from the goblin ruler before her, declaring the end of their merchant business as well as the new forbidden status of the primroses and what dreaded fate would befall anyone who dared to violate the new laws.  Unfortunately, while curiosity tormented _her_ more and more as she grew older, her father had lacked the gumption and affinity for the goblins to bother seeking either answers or rectification.  He was an easy-going man by nature, and preferred to just let things be; it made his reign peaceful, yet...boring, may he rest in peace. 

Such an attitude was far too tame for Marianne; both on and off the throne.  She wanted to discover and experience things her ancestors had never allowed their imaginations to _dream_ of!  There were so many questions she had in her mind.  Questions that had been swarming in her head since her childhood!  But now _he_ was blocking an avenue of enlightenment that had kick-started her fascination with the Dark Forest to begin with!  And the whole alliance itself was on the line for it!

She would’ve protested, perhaps out of childish frustration, but it wasn’t just her position and maturity that forced her to hold her tongue.  It was exactly two other things...

First was his subjects.  She heard a sound, like an inquisitive chitter from down below.  In tandem, she looked with the Bog King to the small group of goblins at ground level.  They were all staring up at their king with rather odd expressions of nervous concern, but one low, warning growl from the only winged member of their species had them tensing in fear. 

The second thing was his face.  When the Bog King’s gaze met her own again, she was arrested.  Everything around her blurred, leaving only him in crystal clarity.  His thin lips were pulled into a firm, but gentle frown, and she’d swear even the _ocean_ itself wasn’t as big and blue as his eyes!   And if their disarming beauty wasn’t powerful enough, the raw emotion gleaming at her made something flutter deep in her chest.  He seemed to be silently _pleading_ with her to understand. 

All at once, she felt ashamed of wanting to pry into his affairs.  She didn’t know why, but...she _sensed_ that whatever his reasons were for that decision, they were painful and personal.  Well, if anyone could relate to wanting to leave their unfortunate past in the past, it was _her_. 

So she accepted.

“Of course, your majesty.”  She said calmly.  “You have my word: no one, not even myself, shall question why you closed the border.”

At her statement, the casual observer might’ve thought he had no reaction, but Marianne saw the way his shoulder scales flexed minutely, and she heard the nearly inaudible sigh he made as he addressed the council again.

“Ladies an’ gentlemen o’ the fairy council, Queen Marianne” he announced bowing to the latter, “I sincerely thank ye fer this opportunity, an’ I eagerly look forward to our future association.  However, I do hope that ye’ll fergive me fer no’ bein’ able to attend the meetin' tomorrow mornin’.  The news of our newfound alliance is spreadin’ through the Dark Forest as we speak, an’ no doubt the clan leaders will be wantin’ me to confirm the rumors at dawn.”

“I assure you, the feeling is entirely mutual, my lord,” Marianne replied before anyone on said council, could say anything further, though she was _not_ expecting for her stomach to sink at the knowledge that she wouldn’t see him tomorrow.  “I’ll...be sure to write to you about everything that took place, and we can discuss any amendments to the treaty that may need to be implemented.”

“As ye wish,” the Bog King answered, “then I shall take my leave.”

“Allow me to see you out!”

Marianne’s cheeks colored at her slight outburst, and even the king was momentarily surprised, but his features were quick to soften, as if he were pleased, and he offered an arm to her, which she was glad to accept so he could escort her to the floor.   

As she followed him and his goblin entourage to the chamber doors, she made sure to catch Dawn’s eye and throw her the subtle signal to make sure the council didn’t adjourn just yet.  She wasn’t about to let Argyle and Marcus’s comments go unaddressed. 

It wasn’t until they were safely outside that the Bog King spoke again.

“I dorn’t know about _you_ but, _I_ thought it went rather well; much better than I’d braced myself fer.”

“Yes,” Marianne agreed with a breathy chuckle, “a little _too_ well, in my opinion.  Argyle and Marcus just love to cause trouble for me.”

“Yeah, I noticed," Bog snorted, glancing over his shoulder, “but after all ye’ve done today, I have no doubt ye can handle them.”

His compliment and confidence touched her, and she couldn’t help ducking her head as she blushed again. 

When they reached the clearing where the two goblin handlers had led Orion and the dragonflies to rest, Marianne was amused to see that a small crowd of soldier spectators had gathered all along the edge of the space, gaping in awe.  She shot a grateful smile in General Lucas’s direction for apparently keeping the general public away from the castle grounds.  Until they had everything finalized, it was too soon for that.

As the other goblins climbed onto their steeds, the two monarchs paused and faced each other. 

“I-I can’t thank you enough for...a-all you’ve done.”  Marianne stammered.

Bog shook his head.

“I told ye; ye earned this fair an’ square.  The only person ye should be thankin’ is yerself.  Ye’ve accomplished more fer yer kingdom than I’ve ever _dreamed_ fer mine.”

Once again struck by his sincerity, her heart thumped as she gazed at him in silence.  The gentle breeze made her skin chill as the reality of his necessary departure grew heavier.  More than anything, she hoped to see him again _very_ soon.

“I’m... _honored_ to have met you, Bog King.”  She murmured, holding out her hand to him, not quite realizing that it was the bandaged one.  “Have a safe journey home.”

The Bog King eyed her injured hand for a moment before taking it gently in his claws and, after a beat of consideration, he formally pressed his warm lips to the back of her fingers.   

Marianne’s breath froze in her lungs and her mouth opened in shock as an electrifying tingle raced up her arm, but he released her before she could fully register the sensation. 

Instead, she watched in fascination as he mounted Orion and guided the falcon into position before nodding to her. 

“Until we meet again...... _Tough Girl_.”

And with that, she gasped as Orion’s wings stirred the air around her as the Bog King and his riders took off for the Dark Forest.  She couldn’t make herself return to the castle until they were out of sight.  

* * *

When she reentered the chamber, the council was still waiting, as she’d wanted, but before she could utter a single word, Marcus beat her to it. 

“Well, congratulations, your majesty.”  He drawled.  “You’ve truly left your first _real_ mark in your reign as our queen.  Most extraordinary.”

Marianne scowled at his arrogance.  He knew _damn_ good and well that she’d done _plenty_ to establish herself since she’d assumed the throne; reorganizing both the council _and_ the military being in the top five! 

_Jerk._

Taking a slow, calming breath, she formed her reply:

“My friends, I will gladly admit that this whole thing is... _unconventional_ , but I-”

“Unconventional!”  Argyle barked with a laugh.  “A gross understatement at _best_ , my lady.”

Her retort was cut off by the sudden flood of anxious voices from the _rest_ of the council. 

“Yes!  How could you risk your life that way, your majesty?”

“What if you’d been killed?”

“What if they’d invaded?”

“How can we have a true alliance with _goblins_?”

“They’re savages!” 

“They’re dangerous!”

“ _Evil_!!!”

“PLEASE, _PLEASE_!”  Marianne shouted for order.  “I am well aware of your reservations, but I can promise you that we have _nothing_ to fear!  Our days of actual conflict with the Dark Forest have been over for _centuries_!  I’ve met not only the king, but his mother too!  The same goblin queen that was in power when the trade lines were first opened, and she was ecstatic at my proposal!   They mean us no harm whatsoever!”

“And yet,” Argyle pointed out with mock concern, “you are _wounded_ , my lady.”

Blinking in astonishment, Marianne looked at her hand, the same one Bog had treated...

...and _kissed_. 

She cradled it protectively to her chest.  She would _not_ allow them to use it as a means to inspire more distrust at this delicate stage.

“ _This_ was a simple, minor accident, and absolutely _not_ a reason to-”

“Plus, we doubt you are _really_ aware of our ‘reservations’.”  Marcus interrupted, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeve.  “If I may be so bold, my queen.  An alliance is beneficial in any capacity, but when one’s methods of _obtaining_ it are so...shamelessly self-serving, it begs the question.”

“Self-serving?!”  Marianne exclaimed in offense, but before she could dispute the claim, Argyle lowered the boom:

“After all, what is the _point_ of even _having_ this council...if the crown chooses to act _above_ the law?” 


	11. Chapter 11

The heat had long bled out from the sweet, soapy bathwater.  There were only a few flat continents of tiny white bubbles left stubbornly floating on the surface.  One by one, they would randomly vanish, causing the faintest of ripples to flare out for a millisecond, then it was as if the phenomenon had never occurred. 

In the center of the full tub; a large, handsome clamshell painted a soft shade of coral pink to offset the dark grey castle walls of stone with gold embellishments, sat Marianne.  Her face was washed clean of makeup, her normally wild hair was now in flat, wet waves against her skull, and her legs were drawn up to her chest.  To protect them from soaking, her purple wings were spread and safely draped over the lips of the shell. 

Overhead, soared her three Pixie handmaidens: Do, Re, and Mi.  They had finished their task of bathing their queen quite some time ago, yet the fairy had simply refused to stand and allow them to dry her off.  Their inquiring chirps were ignored or waved away, leaving the trio with nothing to do other than wait for Marianne to make the next move. 

Unfortunately, it didn’t seem as if that was going to happen anytime soon.  The Fairy Queen had been unusually dismal throughout her bath.  Even now, her arms were crossed over her knees, her head was bowed, and the most forlorn expression was marring her features.  Her persistent silence was also adding to their concern.  She hadn’t uttered a single word since she’d entered her bedchamber several hours ago; just had stripped down and entered the washroom as if in a melancholy trance. 

Thankfully, the cavalry arrived in the form of Princess Dawn slipping cautiously through the door.      

“Knock, knock!”  She greeted cheerfully, but was rewarded with no response.

Not even a glance.

Undeterred, Dawn approached the tub and sat gracefully on the edge.

“Hey...just wanted to see how much longer you plan to be in here,” she said, gently prying one of her sister’s hands free so she could examine her wrinkled palm and fingers, “...‘cause if you’re trying to turn yourself into a prune, I think you’re ripe.” 

Marianne didn’t answer for several lengthy moments, but when she finally did, it was in a voice so small and unsure, the waiting princess and pixies barely recognized it.

“Dawn, am I a good queen?”

“What?!”  Her sister reared back in shocked disbelief.  “Of course you are, Marianne!  You’re the _best_ queen there is!  Why on earth would you think-?  Wait...”

Dawn’s eyes narrowed.

“...You’re not letting what Marcus and Argyle said get to you, are you?”

Marianne just sighed.

“You _are_!  Oh, I _knew_ it!”  Dawn exclaimed, smacking her older sister’s shoulder.  “How can _you_ let _them_ upset you like this?  You know they’re just a pair of old, sexist farts!”    

“Dawn, we’ve been through this.”  Marianne wearily replied, unfazed by the hit.  “It’s not _just_ the fact that I’m _female_ that they don’t like me.”

“Well, whatever!  If they don’t like you, why should you _care_ about their opinion?!”

“Because I’m the _queen_ , Dawn!”  The brunette stressed, shooting to her feet and trailing rivers down her peach skin.  “I _have_ to care about the council and _every_ single person in my kingdom!  And today I...I......I just...didn’t.”

“What do you mean, you didn’t?”  Dawn asked, rising as well.

Marianne massaged her temples as she tried to organize her answer while her pixies cautiously dried her off with their cotton towels.  Leave it to Marcus and Argyle to make her this frazzled.  They always questioned her every political move, which wasn’t _necessarily_ a bad thing, but it was more complicated than their mere dislike behind it. 

The main thing Marianne wanted from her new council was equal representation.  She’d been extra meticulous in her choosing candidates for all the vacant seats that had opened during the years after her father’s passing; a male _and_ a female from each intelligent, resident species to provide a voice to cover as many views and ideas as possible.  Only Argyle and Marcus had stubbornly refused to retire from the previous council, and it would be monumentally unethical (as well as immature) to force them out for no other reason than personal disdain. 

But that wasn’t even the worst of it.  Their old-fashioned beliefs about the sexes aside, there was one glaring problem that made them an even bigger and constant thorn in Marianne’s side.

They wanted equal representation too. 

Though no one blamed her for calling off her wedding to Roland, the former captain of the fairy guard; heck, the council voted _unanimously_ for him to be stripped of his rank and exiled as punishment for his infidelity, Argyle and Marcus were _not_ happy that Marianne had assumed the throne without even so much as a suitor.  It was traditional, as well as expected, for the crown prince or princess to be married or at least engaged by the time of their coronation.  Having both a king _and_ queen at the same time was a hallowed symbol of strength and respect in their society.  To quote the ancient proverb: ‘a kingdom of one throne will thrive as a bird with one wing will fly.’    

She was already so sick of _that_ never-ending debate, but skies above, she _HATED_ it when those two made even the tiniest _ounce_ of sense!  And they always _did_!  Every single objection they ever threw at her was always cleverly laced with _some_ iron thread of annoying logic, and she’d lost count of how many splitting headaches she’d developed trying to argue around them.  And their favorite method of attack was using her own ideals against her.  Today was no exception; the only difference was that _this_ had shaken her more than any other disagreement in the past.

“I’ve worked so hard to get the council where it is,” Marianne explained, “and I’m _still_ working on it, because I want things to be as just and fair as possible!  I want the kingdom to prosper and do away will all this stagnation and political undermining!  So, what did I do?  I sat through _two_ meetings about reaching out to the Dark Forest for an alliance, and when no ruling was made, I just went over everyone’s heads and did it myself!”

Dawn moved aside as Marianne carefully stepped out of the tub and allowed the pixies to wrap her in her fluffy, pale blue bathrobe, all the while continuing her rant. 

“I selfishly disregarded _everything_ ; the law, the council, my _people_!  That’s not a queen, Dawn, that’s a _tyrant_!  I’ve wanted to talk to the goblins for _years_ , and when it seemed like I wasn’t going to get the chance, I...I...”

Marianne spun away with a groan and braced her hands on the washroom sink.  Her shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Argyle and Marcus were right.  What I did _was_ self-serving.  I tried to tell myself that I was doing it for the benefit of the Fairy Kingdom, but the truth is...I did it for _me_.  I took advantage of my authority and made the alliance happen without even _considering_ how my subjects would react.  I went into unknown territory, _alone_ , uninvited, and without any guarantee of survival whatsoever.  I was even _happy_ that the council wouldn’t be able to overturn the decision!  What the hell was I _thinking_?!  How could I have been so arrogant?”

A long moment passed before Dawn walked over and draped an arm around Marianne’s shoulder, prompting her sister to raise her head and meet her gaze in the mirror. 

“So, what?” The blonde asked.  “You’re beating yourself up because you made a little mistake?  Like a _normal_ person?”

Marianne rolled her eyes.

“No, I’m beating myself up because I can’t _afford_ to make mistakes; little or otherwise!  I’m responsible for too much!  I have to be _smarter_ than this!” 

“Okay, then _be_ smarter!  Just don’t expect it to do much good!  No matter how hard you try, Marianne, you’ll never be _perfect_!  You know, you’re gonna keep screwing up occasionally.  That’s life!  What matters is what you do _after_ the fact.”

A quiet huff of laughter escaped Marianne’s lips.

“That sounds familiar.  Where have I heard that before?” 

“From yourself.”  Dawn grinned, giving her sister a playful poke in the ribs.  “ _You_ told me that when I was twelve and not doing so well with my school lessons, remember?  And once I fixed my study habits, I didn’t become a brainiac, but I passed all my exams.”

When Marianne relaxed a bit more and gave a hesitant, nostalgic smile, Dawn hugged her around the middle.

“Alright, so maybe your methods _were_ self-serving, but...at least everything worked out.  You got the alliance, no one died, and you spent the whole afternoon addressing the council’s worries.  Daddy always said that sometimes, in leadership, you have to take big risks, and _your_ big risk just paid off!  But if it bothers you, then next time, either _don’t_ do it again, take a _way_ smaller risk, or learn to be more patient...or _all_ of the above!  And tell me, do you _really_ think this alliance will benefit the kingdom?”

“Of _course_ I do!”  Marianne’s emphasized, straightening up. 

“Then there you go!”  Dawn concluded, grabbing Marianne’s hands and guiding her sister to face her.  “Now, all you have to do is what you did earlier with the council!  Convince our people; _show_ them the benefits!”

Several emotions cycled through Marianne’s expression before she at last settled on hopeful.

“Thanks...I guess you might have a...... _teeny-weeny_ point.”

“You know I do; I’m _that_ fabulous!”  Dawn gushed, swiping an extra towel to quickly and vigorously scrub Marianne's head, turning her hair into a wild, damp mess.

 When she was satisfied, she tossed the towel aside, and tugged her sister in the direction of the door. 

“I’ll help you reach out to our subjects about this."  She promised.  "I’m behind you one hundred percent, and I’m not alone either!  I brought _proof_!”

“Proof?”

Winking, Dawn pulled Marianne into the bedchamber where a friendly figure was sitting on her desk, waiting for them. 

“Hey, Marianne.”

“Hi, Sunny.”  The older fairy returned warmly. 

The black-haired and goateed elf boy was Dawn’s best friend since early childhood, and they had all grown up together.  He was an upbeat, optimistic, and caring individual.  Marianne trusted him with not only her life, but her baby sister’s too.  Naturally, he was the first person she chose for her new council, and she never regretted it.  Working with Sunny was a dream come true!  He and Grace, the female elf councilmember, were both reasonable, vigilant, thorough, and totally dedicated to their jobs. 

But what Marianne appreciated the most, was that behind closed doors, Sunny dropped the formalities (as per her _repeated_ request for a few weeks after she became queen), and treated her the same way he always had, like a dear friend. 

“Sorry, I...couldn’t help overhearing.”  The elf shyly admitted, nodding towards the bathroom.  “But I just wanted to say that I agree with Dawn.”

“No surprise there.”  Marianne teased.  “You always do.”

Sunny ducked his head with a deep blush, but chuckled.

“Yeah well, I also spoke to Grace, and she feels the same.  We honestly think this is for the best.  We _don’t_ appreciate you going behind our _backs_ ,” he added with a pointed look, but no scold in his tone, “but we trust your judgment.  And I’m not just saying that because we’re elves and we’re very trusting creatures.  We _know_ you, and we know you have the best intentions for the kingdom.  You are a _great_ queen, Marianne.  Please don’t ever doubt that.”

Touched, a brilliant beam lit up Marianne’s face and she crossed the chamber to give the elf a tight hug.

“Thank you, Sunny.” 

“Anytime.”  He murmured patting her back before she released him.  “Between you and me, I’m actually curious about the goblins myself.”

“You are?”

“You bet!  The Bog King especially!”  Sunny winced a tad, but didn’t lose his enthusiasm.  “I’ll admit he’s... _intense_ , but...he seemed to like you, _and_ be pretty onboard with this.  You must’ve really impressed him!  And if that’s not a sign that we’re on the right path, I don’t know what is!” 

There was a mysterious thud in Marianne’s heart at Sunny’s comment, and her memories were flooded with images of fangs, claws, spiked armor, and kind, watery blue eyes, but the oddly _instant_ lift in her spirits was distracted by the sound of her sister tapping a hairbrush on the vanity top.

“Feeling better?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

“Fantastic!  Now sit down so I can tame than mane of yours, and you can tell us _all_ about your visit across the border!” 

As the rest of the evening passed with tales and the rapt questions that followed, Marianne’s confidence grew that her impulsive error would ultimately be forgiven, and that the future of both the Fairy Kingdom and the Dark Forest was bright.


	12. Chapter 12

“Shoo, shoo!”  Bog ordered a couple of wayward roly-polies as he trudged his way through his castle. 

They were probably on their way outside anyway, but the little buggers always liked to sneak indoors to enjoy the cooler temperatures during the sunlit hours, and it could get pretty annoying tripping over their balled-up forms and sending them rolling across the floor when you weren’t paying attention in the shadowy halls.

What a long day.

When Bog had returned home from the Fairy Kingdom, he’d stayed awake almost all night locked in his study, going over the dusty records depicting the trade lines his late father had founded.  In part, to refresh his memory as to the proper procedures and goods exchanged, _aaaaaand_ to barricade himself against his mother’s pestering questions. 

It was nearly dawn when he finally fell asleep amongst a sea of log books and loose documents, and only when Stuff and Thang were practically pounding on the door at a quarter past noon to announce the arrival of the clan leaders, did he rise to attend the private meeting.

He remembered eyeing each of the leaders as he slipped into the conference room.  There were seven in total; representing all the known goblin classes. 

Goblins, or Goblin _Prime_.  They made excellent body-guards with their aggressive nature, needle-like teeth, slender legs, and beefy upper bodies.  And thanks to their above-average lifespan, they were the oldest class; the trunk of the family tree. 

Ogres.  The giants of the species, like Gus and Brutus.  Perhaps not the fastest nor the brightest, but all that muscle and ferocity could certainly save your hide in battle, if they didn’t just intimidate the enemy into a retreat by their mere presence alone.     

Trolls.  His mother’s class.  Stealthy and quick, with impressive horns for combat, they were a stubborn bunch, but if you wanted a successful hunt, they were essential for your party.  Nothing could beat their stalking skills.   

Gremlins.  The smallest of the goblins, but what they lacked in size, they made up for in tenacity and intelligence.  Good for scouting, infiltration, and strategizing.  Just have to make sure you never get a finger caught in their beaks, ‘cause chances are, you’d never get it back.

Gnomes.  They might have torsos shaped like bulbs, but they were surprisingly lightweight creatures, and with their spindly, but powerful limbs, they were the speed demons of the Dark Forest.  Whatever natural prey they chased, they _caught_.  

Dwarves.  Their distinctive and sensitive snouts made them peerless trackers, though they usually preferred to live underground, eating worms and insects.  They were also the most docile of the classes; tough fighters if needs _must_ , but no real knack for conflict otherwise.

Hobgoblins.  Basically, miscellaneous; the halflings produced from crossbreeding between the classes.  Stuff and Thang were an example.  They possessed a relatively versatile skill-set, and were most helpful when it came to maintaining and strengthening the bonds between the clans.

_And then there’s me._

_The unknown class._

_Consisting of me, my father, and grandfather._

_The freaks._

Bog had shaken his head to dispel that tired, lonely, self-deprecating train of thought.  He had more important things to focus on. 

Fortunately, the clan leaders had taken the new development in the kingdom’s relations about as well as Bog had expected.  That was one of the reasons why he appreciated their system so much.  Their rules here simple and few, but as long as you were fair, and paid respect to tradition, there was very little anyone could gripe about.       

Barring a few voiced concerns about motive, timing, etc., most of the leaders more or less just nonchalantly grunted at having the rumors confirmed.  The Dwarf leader had seemed rather excited.  Only the wizened Goblin Prime leader had frowned and huffed over the whole thing, but Bog wasn’t fazed; due to their aggression, that class was known to not appreciate change too much.  That very same leader had reacted the exact same way forty years ago, when his father had originally opened the trade lines, and again twenty years later, when Bog closed the borders entirely.   

 _Then again, they were_ all _unsettled by_ that _decision._

Nevertheless, _this_ was probably the liveliest (if not _briefest_ ) discussion they’d had at a clan meeting in a good long time, and they had adjourned after barely a forty-five minute session.

He only hoped the Fairy Queen’s second meeting with her council had gone at least as smoothly.  

There was no doubt in his mind that the queen could handle herself perfectly fine against those crotchety characters from yesterday, however, he found he did _not_ like the idea of them even _trying_ to get under her skin.  He may not know all the nuances of their politics, and maybe _some_ reservations about the alliance were justified, but still, it had taken a _lot_ of guts to do what she had done, and she deserved nothing less than the upmost respect.     

At that moment, as luck would have it, he reached his study, and met Stuff and Thang on their way out. 

“Message for you, sire.”  Stuff informed him.  “On your desk.”

“Thank ye.”  Bog replied smoothly, despite the small, but eager jump in his chest that it was very likely from the Fairy Queen herself, as she’d promised. 

He made to quickly enter the room, but unfortunately, he was stopped in his tracks by a sharp tug on one of his wings.  Once glance over his shoulder revealed that his mother had finally caught him.

“Oh, no you don’t!”  She said, pulling him back out into the hall.  “Come back here!” 

“Mom, let go.  I’ve got work to do!”

“Don’t gimme that nonsense!  Besides, I’ve come armed; with _lunch_!”  Griselda declared, holding up a wooden meal box tied neatly with a handkerchief.  “You haven’t had a bite all day, and you gotta eat.  Now, you march yourself downstairs and sit your skinny butt down, mister.  On the double!”  

She then spun him around and proceeded to steer him in the appropriate direction. 

“Alright, alright!  I’m goin’, see?  Ye dorn’t have to push!”

A while later, Bog was situated at the dining table, clumsily answering through mouthfuls of hot muskrat and potatoes, his mother’s endless stream of questions about what had happened with the fairy council. 

It was only when he mentioned the old creeps, that she started so suddenly, he coughed on his swallow of wine. 

“You don’t mean Marcus and Argyle, do you?”

“The same.”  Bog said, once he’d recovered, and he raised his eyebrow.  “How did ye know?”

“Why, those two were on the council back when your father proposed the trade lines!”  Griselda explained with an incredulous shake of her head.  “Of course, I only met them once or twice, but they were just as stuffy and difficult then.  I can’t believe they’ve hung on to their seats this long!  You know, they tried practically everything they could think of to get the king and queen to refuse!  Thankfully, Dagda and his wife were no fools!  _They_ knew what was best for their people.  And it didn’t hurt that they were the curious type, either.”

There was a pause before Griselda gave her son a twinkling smile.

“A trait their daughter seems to have inherited in spades, eh?  She sure is _something_.  Isn’t she, dear?”

Bog took that as his cue to exit.  Ignoring his mother’s protests, he murmured a flimsy excuse, and fast walked to the safety of his office.  

The subject of females was a sour one, for Bog.  And when Griselda got carried away with it, as was the norm, it was even worse.  She never gave up in her crusade to play matchmaker for her staunchly single son, no matter how many times her random parades of bachelorettes ended in confused chaos. 

Bog refused to so much as _mentally_ associate the esteemed Fairy Queen with those nameless, faceless women whom all _pretended_ to find him attractive and charming, just to hide the fact that their sights were _truly_ set _solely_ on the throne that would just so happen to come along with being his wife. 

_Love._

_Hmph!_

_Such a bloody waste o' time._

Queen Marianne was so different.  He’d never met _anyone_ like her, _ever_.  She was courageous, intelligent, considerate, skilled, and had a nasty right hook! 

He could see her clearly in his mind, and involuntarily thought back to their goodbye the day before. 

The tips of his ears burned.  He had no idea what had _possessed_ him to kiss her hand like that.  Several times, he’d remembered things his father had mentioned in passing about Fairy customs, but…

…after all she’d been through and achieved, a simple nod or a bow seemed……so _inadequate_ …and……he’d rather _enjoyed_ it.     

.

.

.

He tried not to think about it too much.  It was silly and stupid.  Best to forget it.  For all he knew, he’d disgusted her. 

 _But she didnae_ look _disgusted._

Maybe, maybe not. 

...It’d be nice if it was the former, since…

…more than anything, he  _wanted_ to see her again.

A welcome distraction came when he at last stepped into his study and approached his desk.  Picking up the envelope, he was surprised to find that there were actually two, tied together with an emerald green ribbon.  The second one was significantly smaller, as if it held a card. 

Slicing open the larger one with his claws, he extracted the ochre parchment and began reading the elegant script:

_To his esteemed majesty,_

_I trust the day finds you well?  I am pleased to report that the secondary meeting with my council was a success.  Each and every member poured meticulously over the agreement we signed, and catalogued the items specified for trade.  I must mention that in the twenty-year hiatus, there are a sparse few goods that we no longer produce.  I have enclosed the specifics on the back of this letter.  If their loss is problematic, I would be more than happy to discuss alternative substitutes at our next conference, which I must confess, I hope will be very soon._

_Forgive my boldness, but this correspondence has been a fond dream since childhood, so I am afraid I cannot help a little informality.  I hope this does not offend you.  In the attached envelope, is what you might consider a suggestion as to the time and date of our next meeting, if it pleases your majesty.  I wish you the best, and am eagerly looking forward to seeing you and your subjects again._

_Respectfully yours,_

_Queen Marianne_

Bog hadn’t quite realized how big he was grinning until he’d finished.  Was it because her follow up with the council had gone off without a hitch?  Or because _she_ was wanting to see _him_ again, too?  

He had no answer, so he brushed it off and instead, focused on the smaller envelope, and withdrew its contents.

But his stomach dropped as he stared at the text…


	13. Chapter 13

It was a bright mid-afternoon in the Fairy Kingdom, and a small caravan was making its way northeast along a well-maintained dirt path.  The group consisted of about eight soldiers, with General Lucas leading the way, six members of the council, each mounted on their own steed of either a field mouse or a squirrel, depending on the size of the rider. 

In the center of the entourage, four soldiers were carrying a handsome, canopied litter, where inside, the royal sisters were seated; one cheerfully sticking her head through the curtains so she could converse with her dearest elf friend, and the other, silently bemoaning the fact that she couldn’t chop off her incessantly twitching right fingers.  It was her dominant, _sword_ -wielding hand after all.  

Marianne _hated_ being on edge, and she still couldn’t believe that entering the Dark Forest all alone hadn’t rattled her as much as where they were currently heading:

The Garden Soiree.

An annual midsummer celebration tied specifically to fairy history.  Before choosing to settle in the meadow that would become the kingdom, the fairies were a nomadic race; constantly traveling with no place to call home.  The only thing that came close were the patches of tall grass they would have to make camp in, if the weather permitted. 

So now, as a nod to their past and to thank fate for how far they had come, a single day was chosen in the summer, where the fairies would congregate in a groomed and decorated clearing in the tallest of grass.

It was a very posh affair, to make up for the centuries of ‘roughing it’ and being without more than what they could carry on their backs.  Everyone was dressed to impress, and there was an orchestra, waltzing, and intricate hors d’oeuvres. 

Unfortunately, it wasn’t for everyone.  That was why there were only six council members traveling instead of the full ten.  Neena and Flick, the brownie representatives, were not going to attend.  Brownies were known to be as gentle as they were skittish; they abhorred large crowds and too much excitement, opting to stay in their safe, dark, and _quiet_ burrows, only to come out in the early morning or late afternoon to evening hours, when things were usually lazy and calm.        

Of course, the elves on the other hand, would deign to call the Garden Soiree _exciting_.  Council elders Kirk and Evie stated that they’d have a more stimulating time with their grandchildren, so they were not present either. 

Sometimes, it was a real wonder how the elves and brownies had managed to peacefully coexist for so many centuries.  Though they were trusting and undoubtedly hard workers, when elves made merry, they didn’t beat around the bush.  Their festivals were filled with bright lights, loud music, energetic dance lines, carnival rides, and food that was sweet to eat, but _so_ bad for your teeth!  The fairies could enjoy such frivolities as well, to a certain extent, but you could bet your boots, there was never a single brownie in sight when a wild elf party was on.  The level of stress from the noise alone could make them gravely ill. 

In contrast, the more refined get-togethers the fairies held, the more the elves were bored to tears, and though an invitation was given each year to both them _and_ the brownies, for every special occasion the fairies had on their calendars since the first fairy king and queen took the throne, they were always politely declined.  It was such a challenge to find middle ground when it came to entertainment between the cultures. 

Marianne glanced at her sister as she heard Sunny’s signature laugh from outside the litter.  Even before he was on the council, Sunny never once failed to attend any and all fairy celebrations, but Marianne had a strong suspicion that had everything to do with Dawn.  Grace, the young female elf council member, had also agreed to come, but she only wished to stay long enough to see their…honored guests.

And just like that, Marianne’s fingers drummed harder against her leg, and she began to nibble her lip.  Normally, the soiree was a very happy and relaxing time for her, despite how, for only the last two years, it, along with _all_ other social events, was just an annoying obligation she had to fulfill as royalty.  Be that as it may, she had never _ever_ been nervous about it before, not even the first time she was allowed to go at age twelve. 

Marianne had been honest in her letter, her second meeting with the council had gone very well.  As they’d all poured over the agreement, Marcus and Argyle kept mostly silent, and the rest of the members slowly, but surely, seemed to get into the spirit of things, even the shy brownies!  However, once the list of goods they no longer produced had been made, Elias, the young male fairy councilor, just so happened to mention how the news of the alliance needed to be broken to the general public.  So far, aside from the court, only the soldiers had witnessed the goblins that day, but they were sworn to secrecy about such matters, unless Marianne allowed otherwise. 

It was an issue that needed to be addressed, there was no doubt about that, and though Marianne had decided to allow the soldiers and everyone else to casually spread the word, Evie had wisely pointed out that it might be prudent for the public to formally meet with the Bog King before attempting to reopen the trade lines; it had been twenty years, after all.  Marianne had agreed, but she absolutely did _not_ like the twinkle she saw in Argyle and Marcus’s eyes when Evie spoke, and she downright _despised_ how the twinkling grew into a veritable _gleam_ when Dawn immediately made her suggestion.

She knew her sister was only trying to help, and in many ways, it made perfect sense: the soiree was the next big to-do coming up, the fairies would be comfortably on their own turf, and though they didn’t make up the largest part of the population, perhaps that was for the best.  With the advantage of their wings, they were the fastest and bravest of the three races, and they made up the military’s majority, so they were seen as protectors. Basically, if things went well, it would send a comforting message to the rest of the citizens that the goblins truly meant no harm.  They could carefully ease everyone into the reality of the alliance.  The last thing they wanted was for a panic to break out.

Nevertheless, Marianne was wary of Marcus and Argyle’s sudden enthusiasm and insistence on the entire affair.  They’d practically taken over everything! Sparing no expense whatsoever, they demanded nothing less than the very finest of musicians, decorations, and cuisine the kingdom had to offer.  No one else seemed the least bit suspicious, but Marianne just couldn’t keep much of an eye on them, for she was too busy dealing with the influx of fears and worried questions from her subjects once the news about the alliance and, eventually, the Garden Soiree got out.

Marianne had felt like a fool sending that invitation to the Bog King.  She wasn’t exactly sure why.  Was it because of how Argyle and Marcus were acting, and she was afraid he’d accept?  Or…was she more afraid he’d refuse?  That he’d changed his mind about the whole thing? 

She still had no answer, because when his acceptance reply came the following day, she hadn’t felt much better.  He wrote that his mother would be accompanying him with two guards, yet he hadn’t mentioned anything about how his meeting with the clan leaders had gone, nor the expired products she’d told him they’d need to renegotiate.  And there had been no letter since.  Was he angry?  Were the clan leaders angry?  Did they reject the alliance so strongly, he had no choice but to dissolve it, and he was only coming to tell her to her face?

Marianne shook her head, and took General Lucas’s hand as he escorted both her and Dawn from the litter; she’d been so wrapped up in her thoughts, she hadn’t noticed they’d arrived.  Taking a deep breath as she followed everyone to the entrance of the grass clearing, she forced herself to be rational.

_It’s just a silly party.  He wouldn’t bother coming all this way if something was wrong.  We can talk more about everything when he gets here.  That’s probably why he hasn’t bothered writing anything else.  Everything’s going to be fine.  Everything IS fine!  Just breathe, girl!_

_"_ Nervous, my queen?”

Marianne nearly jumped out of her skin at hearing Marcus’s voice right next to her. 

“Yes, I must say,” Argyle joined, stroking his beard, “you don’t look at all well, my lady.”

Marianne frowned and squared her shoulders, lifting her chin defiantly and staring at the western horizon.

“I’m quite alright, thank you.”  She answered coldly.  “Why don’t you go inside?”

Argyle chuckled.

“And miss the arrival if our esteemed guests?  We wouldn’t _dream_ of it, your majesty!”

Marianne grit her teeth at the sound of their laughter.  They knew darn well it was tradition, if a foreign dignitary was expected, for the reigning monarch to enter the soiree _last_ , so they could escort them in and receive the proper welcome from the public.  It had been enough of a pain getting _Dawn_ to promise not to stand around waiting with her at the entrance with the soldiers.    

Those two windbags were up to something, she just knew it, but before she could say anything, General Lucas cleared his throat.

“My lady, four riders approaching from the Dark Forest.”

Marianne’s eyes snapped in the appropriate direction.  The sun’s glare made it difficult, but she was soon able to make out four figures soaring through the sky towards them.  Three appeared to be on the backs of dragonflies, but the fourth was unquestionably the Bog King himself, sans Orion. 

The instant she recognized him, something flipped inside Marianne’s chest and for a moment, she began to fuss with her hair and her skirt before stopping herself with a confusing blush.

 _I must be outta my mind._

* * *

_I must be outta my mind._

Bog couldn’t count how many times he’d thought this since accepting that damn invitation last week.  The very last place he wanted to go was some fancy-schmancy fairy party.  All he wanted was to see the Fairy Queen again, but he just couldn’t refuse!  He’d look like a complete ass!  Still…

Soiree. 

_Swah-rey._

Ugh, the word just threw up in your mouth!

He wasn’t sure if it was a stroke of genius or a horrible mistake asking his mother to come along.  She was pretty social, so he was counting on her to keep at least _some_ of the prying fairy eyes and ears off of him, but then again, she was also loud, blunt, _and_ a chatterbox, so there was no way to tell if this whole thing was going to end in disaster or not.      

All he _did_ know, was that when his eyes finally locked with Queen Marianne’s as he neared the clearing, a sharp bubbly sensation broke out under his scales, and he was equally torn by the strong desire to flee, or to land directly at her side.    


	14. Chapter 14

Bog couldn’t understand what on earth was wrong with him. 

First off, his emotions were irritatingly erratic.  As he touched down on the ground with his mother, along with their guards, Brutus and Gus, and made their way over to the waiting fairies, Bog’s feelings towards this whole affair were shifting drastically.  Originally, the idea of attending the soiree at all had been little more than a resigned annoyance, but now, seeing Queen Marianne standing there and smiling expectantly at him (a smile he couldn’t help shyly returning), he began to feel…rather _nervous_.  Like he was a child again, about to take a public examination over material he’d forgotten to study.  Yet, at the same time, he also felt a tad excited and, for lack of a better term, somewhat _giddy_. 

And secondly, he seemed to be having trouble keeping parts of his body under control.  His hands hadn’t stopped trembling since he’d locked eyes with the queen.  Though bothersome, it was an easy problem to solve if he tightened his grip on his royal staff, and smoothly folded his other arm behind his back; another proper but peculiar fairy mannerism his father had once mentioned in passing.  Despite his repeated subtle gulping, his throat stubbornly refused to stay quenched, and his skin felt equal parts tingly and itchy under his scales.  Perhaps he was coming down with something?  He didn’t _feel_ sick, but he sure had some strange symptoms.   

Well, it was too late to refuse the invitation due to some phantom illness.

With a nod, Bog signaled for Brutus and Gus to hang back with the dragonflies and stand guard outside.  He doubted those two would get into any trouble, judging from the slightly anxious looks on the faces of the fairy soldiers standing over by their collection of squirrel and mouse steeds.

“Your majesty.”  The Fairy Queen cheerfully said with a deep curtsey as Bog and his mother approached.  “We are so _honored_ to have you with us today!”

The rest of her small party followed her example with bows of their own; though two of the three were obviously very stiff, but Bog ignored them completely.  His warm grin was solely for his hostess as he returned her gesture of greeting and respect.  He found it immensely pleasing to hear her voice again.   

Unfortunately, any reply he was going to make was cut off by his mother.

“Oh, we wouldn’t have missed it for the _world_!”  Griselda gushed, curtseying in a ridiculously over the top fashion.  “It’s _wonderful_ to see you again, dearie!  How’s your hand?”

Bog stiffened at his mother’s brazenly casual address, but Queen Marianne surprised him by happily beaming at her as if they were old friends. 

“It’s healed up just fine, thank you for asking!” 

She raised her right hand to prove it, so they could clearly see the tiny pinkish-white line across her middle knuckles, and for reasons he could not _fathom_ , he found himself randomly thinking that scars suited her; a warrior queen. 

And he wondered if she had any _more_.  

Immediately, Bog shook the inappropriate thought away.  He shouldn’t be thinking about silly, and _highly_ personal stuff of that sort.  It was absolutely _nobody’s_ business, _least_ of all _his_. 

Thankfully, he was distracted from his bizarre wandering mind by the very person responsible for the detour in the first place.

“Well, shall we go in?”  The Fairy Queen asked, shifting to the side so the path to the entrance of the clearing was open.  “Everyone’s e-eager to meet you!”

If he were a betting goblin, Bog could’ve sworn there was something… _off_ about her.  There was a tension he could almost sense; a tension she might be trying to cover up with her enthusiasm.  Was _she_ nervous _too_? 

Bog took an instinctive step forward.  To do what exactly, he wasn’t sure.  To escort her inside?  To wordlessly comfort her?  It didn’t really matter.  The point was, he moved, and once he did.  That’s when everything fell apart. 

“Ah!  Under the circumstances, I don’t think that’s very _wise_ , your majesty.”  Marcus muttered to the queen, eyeing Bog in a way that could only be described as haughty.   

Everyone paused and regarded the councilman with confusion, save Argyle, who only hummed in agreement as he too stared in much the same manner:

“Indeed; most indecent!”

“ _Indecent_?”  Queen Marianne repeated in disbelief.  “How so?”

“My lady, _surely_ it hasn’t _escaped_ your attention?”  Argyle sniffed.

“What _are_ you _talking_ about?!”

Marcus coughed, but there no mistaking the sneaky smirk behind his hand.

“Why, his majesty is… _naked_!”

.

.

.

Though the word had been half-whispered for the sake of etiquette, it might as well have echoed through the Fairy Kingdom like a thunder clap.  Everyone was silent and still with shock, feigned or otherwise.     

Bog felt as if a blanket of snow had just been dumped over his shoulders, and the granules of ice were trickling freezing drops of water between his scales and over his skin.  A sharp contrast to the burning sensation growing in his head by the second.   _Now_ he had a logical and _familiar_ reason for his trembling: pure rage.     

Those two miserable bastards!  Why didn’t he notice it before?  The way they’d been gawking at him!  Was he really so used to eyes roving over his beastly body, he couldn’t discern intent anymore?  Had this been their plan?  They’d seen him before in that chamber, so they knew good and well how he presented himself!  Was this whole soiree a trap to disgrace him?   

_How dare they?_

_HOW_ **DARE** _THEY?!_

Bog’s mouth opened, to say something that was going to be saturated with the foulest language imaginable.  It was a mercy his mother had expert timing.  Her hand clamped down on his elbow, and his tongue was held.

“I’ll handle this, dear.”  She stated calmly, patting his arm.

It took great effort, but Bog managed to reign in his temper, though his scowl was fierce as his mother sidled closer to the fairies. 

“Gentlemen,” Griselda began in a cordial tone, primping her red hair, “while I can certainly understand your concern, I must say that you’re entirely mistaken.  I assure you, my son is _not_ naked.”

“Madame, we can _clearly_ see that _you_ are in fact, wearing a… _dress_ ,” Marcus returned, making his opinion of her attire quite plain as he looked down his nose at the gobliness, “and yet his majesty hasn’t a _stitch_ of clothing on his person.”

“Then let me rephrase: my son is not naked by _goblin_ standards.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Tell me, _why_ do you fairies and elves wear clothes?”

“ _Why_ -!”  Argyle spluttered.  “Why b-because we’re _civilized_!” 

Bog bit back a growl at the implication that his people were _not_ , but he couldn’t prevent his teeth from being bared.

“No, no.”  Griselda persisted.  “I mean what is the specific _purpose_ for your clothing?”

Marcus sighed.

“Well…for protection, and to cover up one’s...one’s, eh…”

“Genitalia?”

A ripple of discomfort spread through the group, and despite his mother trying to defend him, Bog had never felt _more_ naked than at this very moment as she went on to explain...

“Goblin skin is remarkably thick and durable, therefore the need for clothes in terms of protection from enemies or the elements is usually unnecessary.  I personally was born and raised near the Dark Forest’s border, and as a result, I picked up many customs from your kingdom.  I wear clothing merely out of habit.  As for modesty, for your information, goblin genitals are _internal_.  They only appear when it is time to mate, and _that_ is the _only_ situation where a goblin is considered _naked_.  So, in conclusion, my son may not be _wearing_ anything, but he couldn’t _be_ more _decent_.”   

A long and painfully awkward silence ensued and Bog prayed for nothing less than a lightning bolt to strike him dead.  Argyle and Marcus continued to ogle him with judgmental arrogance.  General Lucas was trying to keep his attention literally _anywhere_ else.  The only saving grace to all this humiliation was the Fairy Queen. 

 _She_ wasn’t watching him like the freak of nature he was.  _She_ was glaring red hot _daggers_ at her councilmen for their impertinence.  Her obvious sign of speechless anger on his behalf almost cooled Bog’s fury, until-

“Our _humblest_ apologies, Madame.”  Argyle said with an exaggerated bow.  “An honest mistake, I’m sure you’ll understand.  We have never entertained goblins before, so we did not know what all to expect in terms of… _propriety_.”

He gestured vaguely in Brutus and Gus’s direction; both of whom were bare as the day they were born.    

“And this Garden Soiree is such a posh affair, even if it _is_ held out of doors.” 

“Quite!”  Marcus joined.  “We _only_ wish for his majesty to make the _best_ impression on the citizens, but your lesson on goblin physiology was most interesting.  I’m sure the rest of our guests would be _fascinated_ to hear it themselves!”    

“Yes, perhaps along with an explanation for his majesty’s… _unique_ form.”  Argyle suggested, stroking his beard.  “In truth, we were under the impression upon our first meeting that he was simply wearing his late father’s armor, but it was only now upon closer inspection, we’ve learned that apparently _isn’t_ the case.  As I recall, King Briar always wore cloaks and rode birds the few times he came to the Fairy Kingdom.  Nevertheless, do forgive our presumptions, will you?”

Bog nearly shouted the correct wording of his father’s title, before Marcus dealt the final blow. 

“But what an amazing discovery!  We had no idea that his majesty was a new _breed_ of goblin altogether!  Wings, slim build, natural armor; like an _insect_!  And all the rest, a perfect imitation of goblin anatomy!  Most intriguing, is it not, my queen?”   

Said queen flinched and her aghast expression melted into embarrassment.  For merely the breath of a second, Bog saw her eyes land on his chest, and then glance down below his waist.  Her cheeks flushed scarlet as she quickly averted her gaze, but the damage was done.  That was _it_.  Bog couldn’t take it anymore!    

With a dangerous snarl, Bog turned sharply and stormed off into a different patch of tall grass to his far left, paying no heed to the worried calls of his mother _nor_ the Fairy Queen.  He may be hideous, but he was _no one’s_ exhibition! 


	15. Chapter 15

As Marianne helplessly watched the Bog King angrily stalk away into the tall grass, she wanted to sink through the tiniest crevice in the ground.  She’d never been so embarrassed in her entire life! 

And she felt like such an idiot!  She hadn’t meant to look.  It had been a reflex, if anything. 

Damn her potent curiosity and fascination with the goblins! 

Damn Marcus and Argyle for poking at it! 

DAMN THE BOTH OF THEM FOR THIS WHOLE _INCIDENT_!

Somewhere in her senses, she knew she was beyond furious at the shameless insolence they had the nerve to disguise as cultural prudence, and a verbal lashing was brewing on the tip of her tongue, but her brain seemed to be momentarily malfunctioning.  She was so bombarded with the humiliation, worry, and rage of it all, she was utterly speechless. 

Thankfully, someone else took the helm…

“Huh, even after all these years,” Griselda chuckled darkly, “you’re still up to your old tricks, eh, boys?” 

Argyle glowered down at the gobliness with a raised brow.

“Excuse me?”

“No, I most certainly will _not_.” 

The former queen planted her clawed hands on her hips and stared hard at the two elder fairies.  Though a smile remained on her lips, it was as hard and cold as her obsidian eyes.

“You had much more subtlety back then, only because otherwise my husband would’ve killed you on sight.  But this time, the stakes are much higher, aren’t they?  Well, I may have held my tongue before, but now I’m a _senior_ level mother, and that is my _only_ child you just insulted, and I don’t make a habit of letting _anyone_ get away with _that_.” 

Griselda crossed her arms and drummed her fingers sharply against her bicep.

“If you’re really so obsessed with protecting the impressionable minds of your proper, _civilized_ people, let me explain something rather serious to you…”

Raising one hand, she pinched her thumb and forefinger together, leaving barely half an inch of space between them.

“You are this close; _THIS_ close-” she repeated, squeezing the digits again for emphasis, “-to having a _war_ on your hands right now.  And if you don’t think that’s much of a concern, consider this…during the border wars, the _only_ advantage you fairies had were your wings, but things have been peaceful between our kingdoms for nearly a hundred years…and we’ve had _three_ generations of a _winged_ goblin species during _aaaaall_ that time…teaching us the art of aerial combat using dragonflies, so…”

The gobliness’s voice dropped into a low growl and she slightly bared her teeth as her eyes glinted the truth of her threat.

“…you don’t _have_ an advantage _anymore_.”

Fortunately, Argyle and Marcus had the sense to look quite rattled, while a still shell-shocked Marianne was seized with the momentary panic that the two buffoons had actually succeeded in ruining all of her work!    

“But thankfully, I know my son.”  Griselda announced, relaxing her posture, but keeping her tone grave.  “There isn’t going to _be_ another war, and the _only_ reason why is because of _her_!” 

A single goblin finger was jabbed in Marianne’s direction.

“Your queen has already proven herself to be a _vastly_ superior representative of your culture.  Just like her wonderful parents, may they rest in peace, she’s benevolent, wise, and one of the most courageous individuals _I’ve_ ever known.  _She_ has earned our respect and trust, hence why the alliance was agreed to, and it’s _not_ about to be shaken by a couple of prejudiced sneaks like you!”

Along with the rush of relief that war was not on the horizon, Marianne quietly gasped at the tremor in her heart from hearing herself compared to her late parents.  She loved and missed them both so much, it…it was a compliment of the _highest_ caliber to know she was honoring their memory so well.

“Frankly, I’m surprised you’d use such a flimsy jab.  I mean, naked?  _Really_?”  Griselda continued with a snide laugh.  “If you’re willing to share your everyday lives with brownies, I’d hardly think a lack of clothing on _goblins_ would be any more indecent at a soiree.”   

“My dear Madame,” Argyle recovered with a sniff, “for your information, the brownies are not _here_.  They _never_ come to _our_ Garden Soiree.”

!!!

At that comment, with the haughty implication and all, Marianne’s scattered wits _finally_ snapped back into place and a boiling rage she hadn’t felt since one fateful spring day, came flooding through her system.  Her hands curled into white fists and her jaw clenched tight.

“…The brownies?  The _BROWNIES_?!”  She thundered, rounding on the stunned pair.  “How _dare_ you!  You both know _damn_ well that the brownies aren’t here because they don’t like _crowds_!  It can stress them out to the point of _illness_!  It is _literally_ a matter of life or _death_!  NOT because _we_ don’t _ALLOW_ them to come!!!”

“Your majes-”

“SHUT UP!  You two have just shamed every last fairy in the kingdom!  I don’t want to hear another _word_ out of either _one_ of you for the rest of the day, and so help me, if I _do_ , I will have you both _PASSED_!  Is that _clear_?!”

Words couldn’t describe the satisfaction Marianne felt at seeing the color evaporate from Marcus and Argyle’s faces.  She only wished she could’ve slapped them both with a double-expulsion, but once again, they were one step ahead in that regard.  The case was too weak to stand up in a formal court, for they could’ve easily argued against any ill-intentions.  No, according to the law, they had done nothing wrong that could be solidly proven, so their positions were still secure.

However, their deceitful and condescending behavior towards foreign dignitaries and their fellow brownies was personally inexcusable, so the best punishment she _could_ legally use was passing them:

First, it meant that at the next council meeting, they were forbidden to speak, and if they violated that rule, or chose to disobey her recent ultimatum, they would be barred from sitting in on the next three.  She almost hoped they _would_ defy her.

But she had a bigger and much more pressing matter to focus on, or else she might murder somebody.    

“Hey, what’s the holdup out here?  Is everything alright?  I heard shouting.”

_Praise the sky!_

“Dawn!  _Perfect_ timing!”  Marianne exclaimed with a wide, half-manic grin, marching over to snatch her sister by the wrist and lead her to Griselda.  “This is Lady Griselda, the Bog King’s mother.  Lady Griselda, my sister, Dawn.  Would you escort our guest inside, Dawn?  I’ll be there in a moment.”   

“Huh?”

“Please.”

“Uh, but…wh-where’s the Bog King?”

“I’ll explain _later_.”  Marianne said, eyeing her sister forcefully.

“Oh…well,” Dawn blinked in semi-understanding before turning to Griselda with an awkward curtsey, “okay…um, hi!  You must be the one who wrote me that message the day Maria-, I mean, the _queen_ went to the Dark Forest!  It’s so nice to finally meet you!”

“You as well, darling!”  Griselda returned warmly, linking arms with the princess.  “By the way, I love your dress!  Is that linen?”

“Aw, thank you!  Yes, it is!  And I love yours, too!  Did you make it yourself?  If so, you have _got_ to tell me your technique!  I’ve always wanted to make my own clothes!”

“Why there’s nothing to it, dearie!  Now I prefer hand stitching myself, only ‘cause I’m very detail-oriented, but of course a loom is much faster if you…”

As the happily chatting pair vanished into the clearing, Marianne couldn’t resist shooting a triumphant smile at the gaping, disgruntled faces of Marcus and Argyle.  Bless the social miracle that was Dawn!   

Eventually, her expression narrowed into a cruel, calculating glare and she uttered a single, but iron command:

“ ** _Go_**.”

The councilmen didn’t need to be told twice.  They straightened their tunics and strode into the soiree with quiet, matching huffs.  Marianne watched them with a sneer, before bunching her skirt in her hands and hurrying through the grass after the Bog King. 

It did not take her long to find him, standing by a maple next to the trickling stream, leaning his large left hand against the trunk. She could tell by his hunched, trembling posture that he was still _livid_.

“My lor-!”

She was cut off when, with a terrible crunching rasp, his fingers dug into the bark of the tree, carving deep, jagged grooves across the rough surface.  He then dropped his hand and shook it free of the splinters and crushed wood. 

Momentarily, Marianne forgot what she was going to say, too in awe of his raw strength.  What she wouldn’t give to have claws of her own!

Only when his blazing eyes flashed to hers, did she manage to collect herself.

“M-my lord!  Please, allow to apologize for-!”

“No.”

Marianne’s blood chilled.

.

.

.

“…Ye have nothin’ to apologize fer.  I……I know they dorn’t speak fer _you_ , nor yer people, at least, no’ the ones I care to do business with.” 

A veritable waterfall of solace poured over Marianne’s shoulders at his words, making her wings instinctually twitch to take flight out of elation that their budding alliance…and dare she say, friendship, were safe.  Her guilt over looking at him in a way that obviously made him uncomfortable still nagged at her conscious, though she was much too mortified to bring it up and risk angering him all over again.

How she longed for a spar!  Even if the purpose had been to prove herself worthy, she remembered how exhilarating it had been to fight him, and how they’d teased each other as if they’d been sparring partners for years.  Standing here, with him, alone, she knew she’d much rather swing her sword around than go to the damn Garden Soiree.  But alas…

_Stupid formal attire._

“If I may be honest with ye, yer majesty.  I dorn’t really…I’m _clearly_ no’ the soiree type.”

Marianne frowned.  No doubt that was what Marcus and Argyle were banking on when they’d gone over the top with all the preparations this year.  They were hoping to make him and the rest of the goblins stand out like sore thumbs!  To suggest that an alliance was impossible because the races were just too different! 

_Bastards!_

“Me neither.”  She replied with a shy chuckle.  “I enjoy meeting with friends and maybe a _little_ dancing, but I’d much rather be practicing my swordplay.”

“Heh, that does sound more like ye.”  The Bog King kindly smirked, making her stomach do a curious flip.  “It’s a shame ye can’t wear a blade with a dress, isn’t it?”

“Well, now I wouldn’t say _that_.”  Marianne said, striding over to a flat rock.  “You just have to improvise.” 

In one fluid movement, she propped her right foot up on the stone and pulled up the knee-high slit in the skirt of her teal colored sundress, revealing a dagger and sheath she had strapped to her bare thigh. 

“I’m never _completely_ defenseless.”

For several beats, she was proud that he seemed heartily impressed as he stared at her armed leg…

…but as the seconds ticked by…

…due to the nature of what had happened earlier…

…she began to grow more and more aware of the fact…

…that she was practically _exposing_ herself to him!!!

The realization appeared to be sinking into _his_ mind at the same rate, for when their anxious eyes met, their cheeks burst cherry red. 

“Ah!  W-we…we…we should probably get back!”  Marianne stammered, covering herself and ducking her head as she spun around and made her way through the grass.

“Good idea!  Good idea, yeah!”  She heard the Bog King nervously say as he soon shuffled along behind her. 

* * *

“And so there they were, covered in mud and stickers, and my husband turns to me and says, ‘Look, dear!  I brought dinner.’!”

Even if Bog was internally cringing, he was not surprised by the scene he and the Fairy Queen walked into when they entered the soiree: his mother was sitting at a table, sipping punch, and regaling the thick crowd of fairies around her with humorous tales of her life in the Dark Forest.  She had a way about her he sometimes envied.  She was so cheerful and friendly; most people couldn’t help eventually being drawn to her. 

Whereas he, on the other hand, frightened even his _own_ people at times, and almost collapsed at having to properly offer his arm to the Fairy Queen and escort her inside, as his mother had instructed him to do last night.

What soon followed, much to his chagrin, was a blur of fairies and a couple of elves greeting him one by one, once they’d noticed the two monarchs’ entrance.  The only name and face he didn’t instantly forget was princess Dawn’s, only because he feared she was going to _explode_ with joy or worse, _song_ , upon meeting him. 

At least…everyone was far more _cordial_ than he’d expected.  Though many kept their respectful distance, most did _not_ look at him like some freak on display; rather more with awe and general interest.  There were a few that steered well clear of him and his mother out of fear or blatant distaste, opting to gravitate to Argyle and Marcus, who were tucked away in a shadowy corner by the refreshments, gazing silently out over the festivities with an air of contempt. 

For the sake of _their_ health, Bog ignored them and stayed close to the Fairy Queen, who had thankfully, not released his arm since she’d first accepted it. 

That is, until the music began, and her burning touch was replaced with ice as she was taken away by General Lucas for a minuet.  His laughing mother was also being led to the dancefloor by the elf councilman.  Sandy?  No, _Sammy_!  …Or was is Sunny?  

Of course, dancing had been another one of the _many_ fairy and elf customs his mother had picked up from her border village.  It may have been years, but it was plain to see, she hadn’t forgotten a single one of their steps.  He was glad it seemed to be vastly enchanting the masses. 

Bog had personally never enjoyed dancing; even during the traditional goblin jigs held at the Dark Forest festivals, he preferred to watch from the safety of the sidelines rather than make a bloody fool of himself.  Besides, he knew he was far too hideous for any lady to accept his choice as a partner, especially _here_ of all places.  So, better to be content as a wallflower and not risk humiliation.

But, as he watched the Fairy Queen waltzing a third number with another of her subjects, he found himself secretly wishing he had the gumption to ask in just _one_ particular case.


	16. Chapter 16

“Trade ya my artichoke petals for your mulberry tart?”

“Not on your life.”

“Aw, come one!  Just one bite?”

“No, we made a deal last time.  You need your vegetables.”

“Killjoy.”

“Slacker.”

Sunny chuckled as Dawn shoved another forkful of chopped greens past her pouting lips.  She had such a voracious sweet tooth that hardly a meal went by where she didn’t try to pawn off her more nutritious helpings.  Only himself and Marianne were able to withstand her pleading, baby blue eyes when it came to sugar and other things she should take in moderation, although admittedly, his track record of flat refusals paled in comparison to the queen’s. 

It was hard for him to deliberately miss an opportunity to see her brilliant smile or hear her adorable giggle when she got her way. 

“Don’t know what you’re so fussy about.”  He said, nibbling his tart.  “You had _three_ slices of cream cake at the soiree today.”

“Oh my _gosh_!  Wasn’t that _great_?!”

“The cake?”

“No, the soiree!  I swear, I haven’t seen Marianne that happy in _forever_!”

“Yeah, me neither.” Sunny agreed, fondly thinking back on the afternoon.  “Looks like the alliance is off to a good start.  Most everybody seemed to like the Bog King and his mother.  And I understand the soldiers got long pretty well with the two goblin guards the royals brought along."

“I know, right?”  Dawn continued.  “I absolutely _love_ Griselda!  She was just the _sweetest_!  And she said she’s gonna teach me how to make my own dresses!”

“Really?  That’s _awesome_!  You’ve got so many designs, which one are you gonna make first?”

“Definitely a gown!  Maybe for the Harvest Moon Ball!”

Whatever Sunny was going to say in reply was cut off by the sudden frown of the princess as she folded her arms over her chest.

“But that reminds me, I’m still bummed I didn’t get to dance with the Bog King!  I just didn’t expect to be so _busy_!  I mean, I’d already promised Hadrian and Nathan, then Aaron, Benjamin, Charles and…ugh!”

Dramatically slumping in her chair like a rag doll, she glanced over at her friend with a pitiful expression. 

“Sunny, do you ever think I have too many crushes?”

The elf councilman wiped his lips with his napkin and glanced around at literally _anywhere_ else in the private dining room other than his blonde companion to distract himself from the outbreak of goosebumps spreading over his skin at her innocent question.

“…You can’t help who you like, Dawn.”

_Or love._

Dawn watched him for a few more torturously long moments before shrugging and poking at her artichoke petals again as Sunny grabbed his wine goblet.

“I guess you’re right; but I think I’m gonna shorten my list anyway.  I didn’t even get a chance with _you_!”

Sunny coughed on his sip. 

“Huh?!” 

“Sure!  I should try to save the best dance for my best friend!”  Dawn winked.

Astonished, Sunny gaped at the princess, his dearest friend since childhood.  He wanted to protest; to tell her that the best dance was supposed to be for someone _way_ more special to her than her best friend. Someone who made her heart pound and her soul shine brighter than her namesake.  Someone _she_ loved the way _he_ …

But some tiny and shamefully selfish part of him kept those objections silent, though his hope remained vague. 

“W-well…maybe we’ll have better luck at the Harvest Moon Ball.”

“Guaranteed!”

As a giddy Dawn returned to cleaning her plate, Sunny stared at his lap to clear his head.  He needed to focus on more important matters; like the alliance, for one. 

While it was true that the Garden Soiree had gone surprisingly well, that more or less only applied to the fairies.  If the next step was going to be reopening the trade lines, as he’d overheard Marianne suggesting to the Bog King earlier, then the elves and the brownies were the next races that had to be on board. 

And that could prove to be a…far more delicate situation.

Yes, elves were very trusting creatures, and they adored their Fairy Queen, but they were also the ones that had been terrorized by the goblins for centuries; hunted and eaten for sport. 

The brownies had it even worse.  They had originally lived in the Dark Forest with their cousins, the imps.  To eventually avoid extinction, the brownies fled to the meadow, where their numbers were _still_ trying to replenish to their glory days. 

As for the imps, they weren’t so lucky.  Nobody had seen any sign of them for years. 

The previous trade lines, while a progressive and historic move, had been nothing to gush over in the long run.  Most of the elf and brownie merchants had refused to participate out of fear, so the exchange of goods had been quite insufficient to allow any substantial economic boost to either kingdom, even after nearly four _decades_ of operation.

He sincerely hoped the Fairy Queen knew what she was doing.  There was only so much he, Grace, Kirk, Evie and the brownie council members, Neena and Flick, could say or do to convince their respective people of the sensibility and _security_ of this political maneuver.  Even his own parents, the kindest and most accepting people he’d ever known (present company excluded), had expressed their discomfort at having their only son dealing with ‘those treacherous goblins’.                 

* * *

Elsewhere in the private quarters of her castle, Marianne was leisurely pacing up and down while reading a worn ledger she’d found in the library, detailing the original trade line transactions.  It was disappointing how little there was to go on, no doubt because the majority of the elves and brownies had been…less than enthusiastic about doing business with their old predators, to put it mildly.

_But this time, it has to be different.  We have an alliance now.  The goblins have agreed to be our friends.  That has to be clear to them, above all else!  We need to show trust._

How, though?  Not even she could force the elves and brownies to attend market after the fall harvest.  The law flatly stated that they could choose if they wanted to sell their products or not.  Violating their personal rights was absolutely out of the question and would undoubtedly make them even _more_ hesitant about the situation as a whole.  All this she had discussed to some extent with the Bog King this afternoon.    

Thinking of the soiree had Marianne frowning slightly and dropping into a lounge chair by the window, setting the ledger on the stone sill.  Her fingers drummed on the armrests and her crossed right leg gently bounced. 

While she was immensely pleased that the soiree had been a success in positively introducing the goblins to her subjects (well, a third of them anyway), Dawn wasn’t the only one disappointed at _not_ having danced with the Bog King.  She’d _meant_ to, of course; in fact, if she were being honest, there was no one else at that party she’d rather dance with.  Unfortunately, being queen meant that she had to be insufferably polite at her own social gatherings, and accept the hand of any potential partner that came her way.  At least twice, she’d tried to go to him in whatever corner of the clearing he was hiding in and ask for a waltz, but she’d been intercepted both times.  By then, she’d hoped that _he_ would be the one to approach _her_ , but there was no luck there either.  He’d seemed perfectly content to be a wallflower.  He said he wasn’t the soiree type; so, perhaps he hadn’t _wanted_ to dance with her.  For whatever reason, the thought made her shoulders and stomach feel heavy. 

Taking a sharp, decisive inhale through the nose, she lifted her chin to sort her mind.  She was being ridiculous.  After all, he hadn’t danced with anyone _else_.  Maybe he just didn’t like it.  Heck, for the last two years, she herself certainly didn’t.  It was an incredibly trivial matter regardless!  What she _should_ be concentrating on, was the conversation she’d had with the Bog King when the orchestra had taken their break for everyone to sit down and enjoy a light supper.   

They’d agreed that the next step with the elves and brownies needed to be handled _delicately_ , and she was going to ensure, that Marcus and Argyle would _not_ be involved in any capacity, whatsoever.  Part of her was still seething over their underhanded scheme.  She couldn’t wait for the next council meeting, so she could _relish_ in their silence! 

Concerning the official reopening of the trade lines at the market, which meant they had roughly a month and a half left until the autumn harvest, Marianne had asked the Bog King to come visit her in the Fairy Kingdom so she could learn more of their customs and relay the information to her elf and brownie representatives, anything to make the proceedings smoother.  The Bog King had fully consented to her request, but there was a tiny catch: she’d have to wait a fortnight before he’d be available to travel over the border.  It turned out, that with summer coming to a close soon, the goblins needed to increase the frequency of their hunts, to guarantee everyone enough meat for the winter, and the king had to lead the charge.  After that, he’d bid a hasty farewell and left for the Dark Forest with his fussing mother before the waltzing could resume. 

Marianne flushed at the memory of how her eyes had widened in awe at his mentioning of a hunt.  Her sensible side screamed ‘danger’, but her tough side purred ‘challenge’ and ‘thrill’!  She wished she could go too, and had been shocked at her level of desire, but she didn’t know the first thing about hunting!  Surely, she’d just slow everyone down, and they needed all the food they could get as quickly as possible!  And she couldn’t invite herself along; the Bog King had experienced enough rudeness from fairies already. 

Still, the reality of not being able to see him again for two weeks...

Well…it was hard to describe…

It…it just…

It just _bothered_ her.  It made her fidgety and distracted.  That was why she’d opted out of dining with her sister and Sunny this evening.  Her head was so full, she’d never be able to engage in idle chitchat, much less satisfy her nonexistent appetite. 

Rising from her seat, she crossed the length of her room several times in a row while worrying a thumbnail.  She needed an occupation; something more substantial than pouring over old records. 

As if fate was on her side, she spotted her writing desk in the corner and almost instantly, a smile touched her lips.  Flying into the stool by the desk, she snatched her necessary supplies, and got to work.

_To my dear Bog King…_

Suddenly pausing, Marianne stared at her script.

 _‘My dear’?  Isn’t that a bit_ too _friendly?_

 Remembering her little peep show, her cheeks burned and her hand flexed to crumple the paper and start over... 

.

.

.

…but she didn’t.

Ever since that fateful day, embarrassment only made her angry at worst, determined at best.  Dammit, this was an alliance!  They _should_ be friends, and not let silly, awkward accidents ruin it!  She had **_nothing_** to be ashamed of!

Smirking and with a single firm nod, Marianne wrote on.

_…I take quill in hand to wish you and yours a safe and bountiful hunt.  I must confess, I find the idea of such an activity to be most exciting!  You must tell me all about it, when and if you have the interest._

_I’ve recently read our copy of the first trade lines’ business ledger, and I’m afraid that in addition to the goods we will have to substitute, it might be prudent to add more.  We can examine this in greater detail at our next meeting, in the meantime, I shall continue to assure my subjects that the dawning of a new and amicable era is near for both our lands._

_By the way, forgive my non-sequitur, but do you happen to play chess?  Since my father’s passing, I’ve been unable to acquire a worthy opponent.  Are you my equal in wit as well as weapon?_

_Cordially yours,_

_Queen Marianne_

* * *

Two hours after sending off her message via lightening bug, Marianne was just about to settle into bed when she was alerted by the buzzing sound of a bottle fly at her window.  A rolled-up piece of parchment was tied to its hairy foreleg. 

With anxious fingers, the Fairy Queen retrieved and unfolded the letter. 

_To her admirable majesty,_

_Pawn to G-3._

_Your move, Tough Girl._

_~B_     


	17. Chapter 17

Even among the denizens of the Dark Forest, tucked away in its most shadowy of corners, it is a generally accepted fact that the Fairy Kingdom is beautiful.  Its inhabitants took great pride in the vast meadow’s rolls of soft, lush grass, dotted with a wide array of colorful and fragrant blossoms, its few, but stout, towering trees, and the crystal-clear stream winding through the land like a silk ribbon through a lady’s hair.  And plenty well understand that such adornments, though pleasing to the eye, are not the core of the kingdom’s true beauty.  It is the openness and tranquility of its natural setting that stirs love in the hearts of the fairies, elves, and brownies that call it their home. 

Yet, there are some who believe, firmly or unconsciously, that all that glitters is _nothing but_ gold; that all the bright, flashy colors and embellishments of the spring and summer months are the only features of worth in the Fairy Kingdom’s outdoors.

One such disciple of this shallow philosophy was once the captain of the royal guard and fiancé of the then _princess_ Marianne herself…   

Roland scowled as he combed the ground with his rake; the expression had been so frequent on his face for the past two years, it was a wonder his handsome features hadn't fossilized to make it permanent.  This menial and endless task was the only labor he was permitted to have in his new _residence_ , if he could profane the word. 

Gone were his elegant rooms and furnishings at the royal castle.  His loyal squirrel, Chipper, had been confiscated by the army and given to a new master.  And all his worldly possessions, other than what he could carry on his back, were sold off to a public auction.  He’d been forcibly banished to the sole place in the Fairy Kingdom that one as vain as he would deem his own personal hell:

The Dunes.      

To keep the meadow clean, every bit of rubbish was to be burned by the citizens, but all the ash had to go somewhere, and that place was the Dunes.  Just a few acres of low hills made up of the dumped ash and sand Roland was ordered to comb together every…single…day…for the ‘ _rest of his miserable existence_ ’, as the late king Dagda had put it, the day of his sentencing.      

Had Roland been a better man, he would’ve been able to see the bright side.  If not of his situation, at least of his surroundings.  The kingdom’s children loved to play in the ashy sand; sledding, sculpting, digging.  In fact, he himself had spent many hours of his youth amusing himself with such pastimes. 

But no…

He hated it. 

He _loathed_ it.    

Almost as much as he hated the fall and winter seasons.  They made the land hideous and good-for-nothing, like old age on a woman.  The luscious flowers died, leaving behind shabby, beige-tinted grass, and the trees shed their once perky leaves to litter the earth with crinkly rags the stale shades of dry fruit. 

And then there was winter; polluting every nook and cranny with that infuriating bite of cold, smothering the mighty sun with pompous clouds, and the kingdom with that thick, murderous blanket of white.  _White_!  The most boring color ever invented!  He could’ve gone his whole life without ever having to see something so uninspired! 

But alas, being an exile, he was forbidden to accompany the rest of his race to the southlands for the annual winter migration.  No more hot, powdery beaches, nor rolling aquamarine waves.  No more mango cocktails, and definitely no more fairy maidens prancing about in their skimpy hibiscus flower bathing suits.

Instead, he now had to spend his winters in some random, and _very_ reluctant, elf home, usually the attic or fruit cellar, where he was given a powerful and specialized draught designed to induce hibernation come the first snow fall.  For three months, he would sleep, wrapped in a silk cocoon, with no need of food nor the chamber pot, at least until he was rudely freed and shaken awake come the spring, and ordered to bathe immediately, for apparently his scent offended even the skunks by then.  Last year, some fool had even chucked a bucket of water over his head!

To think _he_ had been reduced to _this_!  That he was being treated this way by those that he used to command, but _especially_ those whom used to scramble and bicker for the chance to shine his saddle and boots!  Now they cursed him, shunned him, and swept him away, like the very ash in these infernal Dunes, where he now lived as a common beggar in a hovel comprised of a few slabs of pecan tree bark propped up against a rock.

He had to dig holes to relieve himself, he had to dress in filthy patches, he had to ration his food, for he was only allowed one monthly (and guarded) visit to the market, and if he wanted any entertainment whatsoever, he had to go outside, no matter the weather, and rake, rake, RAKE!!!

It was all that blasted Marianne’s fault!  Because she just couldn’t forgive one little mistake; a meaningless dalliance with another young lady. 

_Overreactive prude.  It ain’t like I fucked her!  Hell, I’d been abstainin' fer six weeks outta respect fer the weddin’ night!  Six damn weeks!  An' what thanks did I get?  What’s the big deal anyway?  I sure ain’t the first fairy to cheat, an' I definitely won’t be the last!  If she’d been inside, where she belonged, an’ gettin’ ready fer the weddin’, like I told her, she wouldn’t have even found out in the first place!  Guess I shoulda taught that girl better about how to behave herself an’ mind her own business!_

All these sour notions had rattled in his brain since the moment of his arrest, but what could be done?  You had to have power to make things happen; to get what you wanted.  And he’d been so close…

 _So very,_ very _close…_

He was distracted by his unfortunate, but near constant, trip down memory lane by the _piff-piff-piffing_ sound of footsteps cutting across the dusty terrain.  Turning, Roland saw with a twinge of half annoyance and relief, that it was his escort to the market. 

Glancing skyward, he observed that it was barely three hours until sunset.  They loved to give him as scant amount of time as possible to make his necessary purchases to last a whole month.  Oh sure, they _claimed_ it was for the benefit of the crowds; waiting for the rush to pass so the poor people wouldn’t have to see the sorry likes of him, but Roland knew better.  He _always_ knew better.

_They hope I’ll soon starve to death out here._

“Gentlemen, nice of ya to _finally_ show up.”  He greeted with a sardonic smile.

“Ready your things, _trash_.”  The larger of the two impassive soldiers demanded.  “The market won’t wait.”

 _Trash._ Roland thought bitterly, and longed for the days when he could’ve issued a flogging for such insolence. 

“I’m ready.”  He returned flatly, and held his wrists out to be tethered with the iron shackles, as per usual.  “Shall we?”  

* * *

How undignified it was to be carried under his arms like a sack, over the meadow when he had a perfectly healthy set of wings!  But nope.  Couldn’t have him slipping away from the Dunes, or even remotely enjoying himself within them, could they?  No, he had to wear a tight, leather band looped over his wing joints, and sealed with dry sap, that prevented him from hovering more than a few inches off the ground for hardly more than a handful of seconds.  At least the binds didn’t hurt…unless he rolled onto his back at night.

When they reached the shaded clearing just on the outskirts of the Fairy City where the stands and wagons were erected in neat lines, Roland nearly stumbled to his knees from the impatient shove that quickly followed their landing.

“Go on, and don’t be all day about it!”

Roland snorted, and squared his shoulders, making his way into the almost totally deserted market with as much pride as he could muster. 

Since a month’s worth of groceries would be far too much for him to carry alone, for his escort sure as shit wasn’t going to help him, the deal was he had to make his orders with the vendors on the standard payment he received for raking the Dunes, then some more soldiers would deliver his purchases the following day. 

For the most part, no one spoke to him, unless you counted muttered insults and irritated grunts from the sellers as he named his selections.  Roland didn’t much care though, even in his heyday, he never bothered to converse with lowly _dirt_ farmers, yet the silence did come with somewhat of a bonus.  It allowed his sharp ears to pick up on any local gossip from the few stragglers still perusing the wares.  More often than not, it was simply idle chatter: _‘so-and-so is expecting, such-and-such died, this-and-that is being built’_ , etc.

Perhaps that’s why it came as such a shock when a pair of words caught his attention this particular afternoon: ‘ _goblins’_ and ‘ _alliance’_.

Roland paused, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.  He’d only ever heard those terms used together in a sentence back when Marianne and he…

.

.

.

_No way._

_She couldn’t have!_

Casually sliding around to the edge of a mulberry cart parked at the end of an aisle, pretending to be engrossed in his shopping, Roland listened harder to the fairy mother talking to the elf merchant as he made her change.

“…believe it? I just never thought I’d live to see the day!”

“It’s all very strange to me.” The elf sighed.  “I don’t trust them.”

“Well, neither did I, to be honest.  But you should’ve seen them at the Garden Soiree!  Why, the king’s mother was a dear!”

“That’s good, I suppose.”

“And my husband told me that the guards they brought were a marvel!  He’d never heard such exciting hunting stories!”

“What about their king?”

“I personally thought he was rather standoffish, but the queen and the princess seem quite fond of him.”

“That’s what Sunny said. I just hope the queen knows what she’s doing.”

“Lucas told me she’s been visiting the brownies with Neena and Flick a lot lately; warming them up more to the idea, you know?”

“That’s wise, I’d say.  We’ve got all the elf council members running around here, doing much the same.  Have you heard anything about what Argyle and Marcus think about all this?”

The fairy shook her head and readjusted her hold on the baby in her arms.

“They’re still not happy, but they’ve been pretty tight-lipped lately.  Rumor has it, the queen threatened to have them passed!  Thankfully, Elias and Marta have been handling the public opinion of us fairy folk.  Lucas says they have the youthful energy for it.”

“Ha!  Isn’t that the truth?  Can I tempt you with some of my special delicious honeycomb?”

“Oh, no you don’t, Max!  Lucas and I wanna _live_ to see our grandchildren, thank you very…”

As the conversation veered off into insipid territory again, and incredulous Roland turned away with a slack jaw.

Son of a _bee_! 

_She actually did it!_

He’d always thought all Marianne’s blabbering about going into the Dark Forest to ‘talk’ to those savages had been a joke!  And an adorable one at that!  She’d been such a delicate slip of a thing, and yes, she was mad as a bald-faced hornet when she’d found him messing around, and he _had_ heard that she’d toughened up considerably by then, but surely, she hadn’t become so ornery she’d do something _that_ stupid?!

What on earth was Marianne thinking?!  She’d already made _his_ life a living hell, but now she was practically trying to bring the entire Fairy Kingdom to ruin as well?! 

 _This is exactly why women ain’t fit to rule alone!  They just want to be all nice an’ sweet an’ soft!_   _No wonder the goblins went fer it!  They ain’t too smart, but they could probably smell her weakness from a mile away!  Dumb broad’s gonna get us all murdered in our beds an’ eaten fer breakfast!_

“Hey.”

Roland looked up to see the elf trader frowning at him, obviously aware that he wasn’t going to buy anything.

“Move along, trash.”

Taking a beat to glare murderously at the squat peasant, Roland huffed and strode away in the opposite direction, brain already working on a plan to at last put an end to this ridiculous state of affairs.  For the well-being of himself and what should’ve been _his_ kingdom by now, he swore…

 _You ain’t gonna get away with this,_ **buttercup** _.  No siree._

 


	18. Chapter 18

“Ha!  Checkmate!”

Marianne chuckled in triumph as she scribbled her winning move onto the parchment and secured it to the leg of her mayfly, the _daytime_ mail carrier.  In two shakes of a mouse tail, it was on its merry way through the sunlit fields of her land to the Dark Forest.

In the fortnight the Bog King had been hunting with his goblins, they’d managed four games and Marianne had just tied them up!  She’d never played correspondence chess before, and had to consult her actual board in order to keep track, but that made it more interesting. 

It was just so wonderful to have someone to seriously play with again.  Chess had always been a favorite pastime for her and her father, and when he died, she’d been afraid that that bonding time would forever remain as nothing more than memories.   

But then the Bog King had come along, a soul kind enough to keep up their exchange despite being in the middle of a hunt, and brought the nostalgic magic back with him, and with enough skills to keep her on her toes.  Getting around his preferred method of ‘castling his king’ had been a challenge, and she’d even teased him about being afraid to face her head on.  He replied with how it shouldn’t have been a surprise, aside from a strong defense being a necessity in the game, she was _deadly_ with her knights and queen, and he was no suicidal fool! 

Marianne giggled at the recollection.  She’d been in an almost obnoxiously good mood, the last two weeks.  Smiling constantly, randomly fluttering her wings, humming or singing to herself, and walking around with a very noticeable spring in her step, despite the nature of her major task these days. 

Herself, Neena, and Flick had been spending their early mornings and evenings at the brownie burrows, convincing the Fairy Kingdom’s shyest and furriest creatures that they had nothing to fear from the goblins any longer, that the alliance was sincere, and that the reopened tradelines would benefit them and everyone, even better than it ever had before. 

Marianne always had a fondness for the brownies, especially their young.  They were just the sweetest little darlings; and much more daring than their adult parents!  So, she liked to get in as much playtime with the children as possible, before their hypersensitive survival instinct kicked in once they reached sexual maturity.    

Overall, in spite of their misgivings, the brownies were willing to follow along with their queen’s plans; their small, dark eyes blinked up at her as she’d spoken to them, bravely trusting her.        

And that was what had pleased Marianne the most.  

Not only the brownies, but the elves, and the rest of the fairies were generally in support of the alliance, even looking forward to the reopening of the tradelines on market day!  Her councilmen and women had been doing a _fantastic_ job with public relations, and it certainly didn’t hurt that Marcus and Argyle had been keeping their traps mostly shut at the same time; the glorious silence from them at the first meeting after the Garden Soiree was a dream come true!  And to make it last, she’d deliberately discussed non-goblin/alliance related topics the next few times the council met.  She had to bite her tongue to stop herself from laughing out loud at the outrageous expressions of frustration on their grizzled, old faces.

It was exhilarating, the air of reserved, yet pleasant interest and harmony in the Fairy Kingdom.  Sure, there were a few resistors, but nowhere near enough to be too concerned with.  Marianne was immensely thankful that her rapport with her people had in fact not been irreparably damaged by her…impulsively executive decision, though she was resolved to not push her luck with that, ever again.  Since her coronation, she had been a kind and just ruler for several years, meaning her reputation was well known and admired, thus saving her from the harsh criticism of choosing to risk so much for the sake of an unlikely alliance with former enemies with neither proper consultation nor procedure.  It still wouldn’t do to consciously make similar moves, but as for now, she likened it to her taking a rather wide step across stones in a rushing river, and her subjects were cautiously attempting to follow behind her, as long as she held their hands and was sure to protect them if anything were to go amiss.   

But nothing would; of _that_ , she was expressly determined. 

* * *

By late afternoon, after catching up on her paperwork, a tired Marianne was leisurely strolling down the halls of her castle, and examining the new tapestries her sister had ordered from the Fairy City weavers.  They were a bit too _flowery_ , for the queen’s personal taste, but when you lived inside a giant, hollowed out rock, she supposed it made sense to want a lot of vibrant colors to liven things up. 

Still, though they were pretty, they were unimpressive.  She’d only seen these blossoms in the Fairy Kingdom a million times.  It made her wonder about the Dark Forest.  Did they have any flowers that were native to their land?  She imagined what they might look like, all deep and full under a pearly moon…

At that moment, she heard the familiar chittering of her pixie handmaidens coming towards her from the direction of her bedchamber, further down the corridor.  She smiled when she saw their floating, petaled bodies, but her expression positively burst with joy when she saw what they were carrying:

Another letter from the Bog King!

Barely keeping a squeak at bay, she snatched the offered envelope and tore into it with all the unbridled enthusiasm of a child with their birthday gift.  It was hard to keep her fingers from trembling as she greedily read the message.

 

_How is the best queen in the history of her land?_

_I humbly accept my defeat, on the condition that you concede of my being, to use your own words, your ‘equal in wit as well as weapon’._

_The hunt was profitable, though you’d be surprised how dull it can be at times; all those hours of waiting and tracking.  So, again, I thank you for this pleasant distraction._

_After our visit, if you find the idea agreeable, we should plan for a time when yourself and your sister can come to the Dark Forest.  My mother is eager to begin giving those dress-making lessons to your sister; she’s been badgering me about it ever since the soiree._

_While they work, I wonder if you’d care to join me on our next hunt?  You’ve impressed us all with your swordsmanship, and among my people, we hold such skills as invaluable in our pack.  Can you do more with that bravado than simply march into dangerous territory alone, Tough Girl?_

_Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow morning._

_Yours,_

_The Bog King_

Marianne knew it was silly to grin so big her cheeks hurt, and to squeeze the paper to her chest like a giddy teenager, but she just couldn’t help it.  She was so _happy_!  Thanks to their recent communication, she truly felt as if she and the Bog King were old friends now.  She’d never felt _this_ comfortable writing to anyone before.  It made her all the more eager to see him again.

And skies above!  Had he read her mind?!  Here she was, thinking of what mysterious beauties could be hidden away in the Dark Forest, and here _he_ was, inviting her to come to his realm, _and_ to accompany him on his next hunt! 

_May fortune bless him!_

It was a mercy he hadn’t let Marcus and Argyle’s rudeness ruin what they were building together.  The fact that he was apparently as dedicated to the alliance as _she_ , warmed her to the core.  Such a bright and prosperous future was being laid for both their worlds!  True peace and friendship was within reach!

Her excitement was so great, she had trouble settling down later that night, but sleep soon found her, with the Bog King’s letter tucked safely beneath her pillow.  

* * *

The next morning, Marianne woke bright and early to make sure everything was ready for the Bog King’s arrival.  All of the proper ledgers and notes were gathered in the study, of course.  The servants had scrubbed the palace spotless, and the cooks had been instructed to serve a hearty meal with plenty of protein come lunchtime.   

Marianne zipped around and around, checking every detail until Dawn practically had to wrestle her into a dining room chair to eat _some_ breakfast before she drove everyone _nuts_! 

Her stomach was too bubbly to manage more than a few bites, so she just pushed the rest of her food aimlessly along the plate, perking up with wide eyes whenever she heard any noise outside the nearby windows.

“Would you  _relax_?”  Her sister exclaimed after about the third time, “You’re freakin’ me out!”

The queen blushed and took a quick sip of her tea.

“I’m just anxious to get started, that’s all.  You know how big this is, and market day will be here soon!” 

“Well, jumping every five seconds isn’t gonna move things along, you know.  He’ll get here when he gets here!”

Marianne playfully elbowed her sister and wiped her lips with her napkin. 

“You remember what I told you about today?”

“Ugh, _yes_!”  Dawn pouted, crossing her arms.  “I still don’t see why I can’t at least _visit_ for a while.”

“This is _business_ , not a social call.  Besides, you and Sunny already have plans to read to the children at the academy.  You’ve been planning it for weeks.” 

“Yeah, I know.”

A strange sense of satisfaction affected Marianne at her sister’s resignation.  It honestly _was_ a business meeting, yet…for whatever reason……she just wanted to be _alone_ with the Bog King. 

“Alright, but I’m _still_ gonna be here to greet him!  I don’t care what you say!”  Dawn declared.

Marianne only smirked and ruffled her sister’s blonde curls, much to the latter’s girlish chagrin. 

“That’s fine with me, Dawn.” She laughed.  “As long as you don’t scare him away.” 

“After what you’ve done to my hair, I think I just _might_!”

Finally, at half past ten, after the maids had cleared the table, there was the sound of a horn outdoors, the signal that a visitor was approaching.  Both sisters bolted from their seats and raced each other to the entrance hall.  The doors were already open, letting in the cheerful sunlight, and Marianne could see General Lucas and a few of the guards waiting on the terrace. 

As the seconds passed, Marianne’s heartrate doubled, then tripled once the unmistakable whir of dragonfly wings broke the silence, and her breath momentarily left her the instant she saw the Bog King himself land on the terrace accompanied by his two guards, Brutus and Gus. 

While the ogres dismounted their steeds, and fell right away into an amiable chat with the general and his companions, the Bog King merely nodded to the soldiers and turned into the castle, steadily approaching the royal sisters.   

 


	19. Chapter 19

As the Bog King drew nearer, something unexpected and deeply unfortunate began to alter Marianne’s excitement.  It was the same feeling that used to afflict her as a child when she had those stupid singing and lute recitals.  Her hands and knees were shaking, and sweat was breaking out over her palms and the nape of her neck.  She felt naked and cold, like she wanted to run for cover of _any_ sort.  Her racing heart was now _pounding_ in her sensitive ears like canon fire, and her tongue was nearly fused to the roof of her inexplicably dry mouth. 

What on earth had come over her all of the sudden?!  One minute she was thrilled to be meeting a friend again, and the next, she was as anxious as if she were about to perform in front of a total _stranger_?  It made no sense! 

By the time her guest had come to stand before her, Marianne was so jittery she couldn’t utter a single word in first greeting, as was custom; she just stood there, looking as if she’d sat on a bramble.  As a result, to her further and _complete_ embarrassment, she very soon saw the Bog King’s tight, but pleasant, smile fall an inch or two before he took the initiative and bowed low in respect. 

“Yer majesty, yer highness.”  He murmured, keeping his gaze downcast and his once bright expression guarded.    

The Fairy Queen wanted to crawl into a hole and die.  Great!  Now she’d upset him, for no reason at all!  Was she ill or something?  Oh, _that’d_ be all she needed right now; some mysterious onset ailment!  

And what was worse…

…was that she forgot about the mistress of subtlety standing beside her.

“HI, BOGGY!!!”  Squealed Dawn as she practically _launched_ herself at the unsuspecting monarch.

To Marianne’s shock and horror, she watched as her little sister slammed into the poor goblin’s front with enough force to knock the wind out of him in a huff.  Her arms wrapped tight around his middle and she enthusiastically squeezed as if he was her favorite stuffed animal and _not_ a visiting dignitary. 

The Bog King’s arms flew out to the side and his eyes widened to an almost comical degree, as if he couldn’t comprehend what in fact a _hug_ was, nor that this sparkly, bubbly, teenager was quite voluntarily giving him one.  Only when his panicked blue orbs sought Marianne for help, did she somehow finally find the presence of mind to more or less pull herself together and take action, though she had to admit, she was both mortified…and a bit  _jealous_ of her sister’s comfortably extroverted nature, at the moment.

“ _D-Dawn_!”  She admonished, stepping forward and tugging on her shoulder.  “What do you think you’re doing?!  Let go!”

Dawn didn’t relinquish her hold in the slightest, but merely cast her sister a childishly annoyed frown.

“What?  It’s okay, Boggy’s my friend!”  She argued before turning back to rest her chin on the goblin’s armored chest, blinking up at him like an innocent doe.  “Aren’t ya, Boggy?”

“Eh…it’s _Bog_ , and……um, sure?”

Squeaking with glee, Dawn released her captive and gave Marianne a playfully haughty jeer.

“ _See_?”

“I’ll _see_ you to the _door_ , thank you very much!”  Marianne grumbled, giving the blonde a firm push in the direction of the exit.  “I’m sure Sunny’s waiting for you.”

“Alright, alright, I’m going!  Bye, Boggy!  Have fun with my stuffy old sister!”

“Bog.” 

But the princess either didn’t hear or just plain ignored the correction as she pranced out of the room, humming to herself without a care in the world. 

Almost the instant her sister was gone, Marianne felt fresh dread rise in her throat.  The solitude she’d longed for with the Bog King would be absolute _torture_ if she couldn’t keep her nerves under control.

So, of _course_ the best way to handle herself and the situation was to give into a _delightful_ bout of word diarrhea.   

“Oh, your majesty!  I’m so sorry for my sister’s behavior!”

“It’s really not-” 

“You must excuse her, she’s just so young and wayward; head in the clouds, you know?”

“Yes, I-”   

“But she means no harm!  I assure you, I try to give her as much valuable guidance as I can!  I have to act as queen _and_ parent to her.”

“I can’t imagine how ye-”

“Not that I’m complaining o-o-or making excuses!  She’ll be properly reprimanded later for the lack of manners shown here!”

“Ye needn’t do th-” 

“I do hope she hasn’t made you uncomfortable, my lord!  I couldn’t bear it if-”

“Please, _please_!”

Marianne’s jaw snapped shut and she blushed from the realization that she’d been babbling, but the Bog King’s tone, though firm, was reassuringly kind. 

“Dorn’t be troubled; yer sister is…charmin’, in her own way.”  He then scratched the back of his neck and looked shyly at the floor.  “An’ I think yer doin’ an excellent job raisin’ her.”

In the short pause that followed, Marianne quickly found herself blushing anew, just for a far _better_ reason.  However, the compliment did nothing to quell her strange, overall unease.  If anything, it _strengthened_ it.

_Get a grip already!_

“W-well then,” she stammered at last, “um…shall we?”

He glanced at her and merely nodded in response.

Spinning on her heel, Marianne swiftly made her way out of the grand foyer and turned left towards the main staircase, located in the opposite direction of the council chamber.  She didn’t say a word, nor once check to see if he was following her.  The latter certainly wasn’t necessary.  His every footstep seemed to vibrate through her entire frame.  And as for speaking, she just……couldn’t.  Her teeth might as well have been glued together!

With her hurried pace, they managed to reach the third level corridor in less than half a minute.  The double doors to the study were open, as she’d left them earlier this morning, and only her clenched fists kept her from running through them in relief.  Second to the armory, the study had always been one of her favorite rooms.  Even as a child, she loved reading the numerous, colorful maps on the walls, and curling up with a book or for a nap on the enormous bay window seat that overlooked the river.   

It was a warm, calming room; a sanctuary.

Surely, she’d be able to gather her wits and relax in here?

A nice distraction immediately presented itself when she noticed her three pixies rise from the desk where they’d placed a platter of wine, two goblets, a cheese spread, and crackers beside the waiting stacks of ledgers and documents. 

Oh, those wonderful girls!  A little spirit was just what Marianne needed, and she beamed in appreciation, though she _was_ fully aware that their act of kindness was more of a front so that they could meet the Bog King himself.  Not that she could blame them.  They had been listening to her prattle on about him, the goblins, and the Dark Forest for _years_.  So, it was no surprise to the queen that they whizzed past her like hummingbirds to finally take a gander at the figure that had starred in many a cautionary story of her youth, as well as the current local gossip, and her recent thoughts.

“What in blazes-?!”  The Bog King exclaimed and at last, a bit of the tension in Marianne’s shoulders eased.

With a soft laugh of relief on her lips, she whirled around to introduce everyone.  Her dear handmaidens were all floating directly before the Bog King’s gaunt face, peering as close as they dared, and chirping curiously. 

“Sorry, these are my pixies: Do, Re, and Mi.  Say hello, ladies.”

They beautifully harmonized the word, as was their nature…

.

.

.

…but the Bog King did not return the musical salutation.

Furrowing her brow, Marianne side stepped to get a better angle with which to view her guest…and was stunned to see him alarmingly still and rigid.  His eyes were hard and cold as stone, and he was glaring at her three pixies as if they were deadly scorpions poised to strike.  It made no sense, but the Bog King’s entire attitude suggested a predator sizing up a rival.

“Your…your majesty?”  She asked, concern in her tone.  “Are you alright?” 

“Do they have magic?”

Marianne blinked, puzzled by the seemingly random question.

“Magic?  Uh……other than glowing and flight without wings…no, not that I’m aware of.  Why?”

But the Bog King did not answer her right away.  With one final, severe scowl focused oddly enough, on the pixies’ legless lower halves, he strode around them and marched to the desk.

“…No reason.”  He murmured as he picked up a ledger to peruse.  “Would ye ask them to leave, please?”

“Oh…er, o-okay……that’ll be all, girls.  Thank you.”

The pixies exchanged a bemused glance before promptly quitting the room with decidedly less enthusiasm than when they’d entered with their considerate treats.

As for Marianne, a myriad of questions was perched on the edge of her tongue, but she managed to hold it regardless.  Any fool could see that it was a discussion the Bog King did NOT wish to have.   Not that this stopped her from subtly scanning his harsh features in her silent wonderings and eventually coming to the unexpected conclusion that his sullen anger made him appear not forbidding, but rather… _dashing_?

And just like that, she was awkward all over again!

Too fidgety to trust herself with pouring a glass of the wine anymore, she swallowed the storm inside, shuffled into an adjacent chair, and tried to hide her hot cheeks behind a snatched handful of papers.  Which, did nothing to deter her line of vision for more than a few seconds.  Transaction records, stock lists, consumer reports, etc.; it all failed miserably to maintain her concentration. 

Like a moth to a flame, she couldn’t keep herself from watching the Bog King as he paced up and down and read through her notes aloud.  Occasionally, he would catch her, and she would snap her attention back to whichever file they were analyzing, all the while dealing with a jerking stomach from the knowledge that she was shamelessly gawking at him. 

And for what?!   

She could hardly understand it herself!  Some irritating, nameless, and _irresistible_ draw to keep him in her sights.  Wouldn’t have been half as bad if she didn’t have to _talk_ on top of it all.

Land sakes!  All the planning and rehearsing she’d put into this meeting!  She never thought it would turn into such a humiliating disaster…  

“Y-yes, I’m afraid the longoza flower has…has become too rare for us to tr-trade anymore,” she bumbled at one point, “bu-but we’d be more than happy to share our most preferred skin ointment plant!  It’s called valoe era.  I-I mean, _aloe vera_!  Its cultivation has just _boomed_ in the l-l-last decade!  Heh, heh...”

Bog quirked a brow at her, for about the dozenth time by then, but scanned the sheets in his hands with another indulgent shake of the head.

“There’s too much shade in the Dark Forest fer us to really get much use o' this aloe vera, an’ since it’s so popular fer yer people, I think it’d be wise to trade ye our henbane fer somethin’ milder, like yer marigolds.  We’ll make sure to give strict instructions as to how to use the plant safely; its toxic if ye dorn’t know what yer doin’ with it.”

“Marigolds?”

“What?”  Bog frowned at her.  “No…no, the _henbane_.” 

Marianne flinched at her dimwitted error, and ducked her head.

“Right!  Right, of course…the henbane…”

Dammit!  Why, oh WHY was she acting like such a blithering _idiot_?!  It was just the Bog King for crying out loud!  The same goblin she’d been conversing with by letter for the last two weeks.  They’d been so casual and friendly before, why was it so _different_ now that he was here in the flesh and…exoskeleton? 

Was it because the last time she’d seen him in person, his… _unique_ physical traits had been rudely brought to the foreground?  And now that she’d gotten to know him more internally…the _external_ was trying to catch up?  Curse Marcus and Argyle, but they were quite right…

…the Bog King _was_ intriguing.  She’d thought so from the very beginning; the moment she’d first laid eyes on him in his throne room. 

“Ye have a note here that says ye think we should split the market day activities into two sessions?”

“…”

“My lady?”

“Hmm?  Oh!  Yes!”  Marianne cried, flushing from being caught ogling and a step behind in the conversation _again_.  “Yeah, um…it’s because of the brownies.  They’re very skittish and rarely venture out of their burrows at any time other than early morning or late afternoon.”

“An’ with the goblins there, the extra-large crowd might be too much fer them?”

“…”

“Is that correct?”

“Ah!  Yeah!  Yes, I believe so.  I suggest we conduct the first part of market day in the morning, and then the second part at sundown with just the brownies and goblins.”

“I see.  Well, I’m sure I can arrange…”

“...”

“…something.  Now, I’m aware that ye fairies dorn’t use bones the way we do, so we’ll make sure to have a generous supply o’ lumber instead.”

“…”

“I…find that cedar works the best fer yer purposes, but our grove hasn’t been as plentiful as it was before, so we’ll have to raise the price somewhat-”  

“…”

Upon averting her gaze once more, she must’ve exhausted the Bog King’s already tried patience, for the next thing she knew, the goblin hurled himself halfway over the desk, scattering the logbooks and papers to the floor with his massive shoulders.

“HAVE A GOOD LOOK!”  He viscously snarled, barely an _inch_ away from her nose.  “GET IT OVER WITH!  I’M FULLY AWARE OF HOW HIDEOUS I AM, BUT MUST YE STARE AT ME _INCESSANTLY_?!"

Too shocked to so much as croak, Marianne only gaped back at him, spine ramrod straight against her chair.  The soothing scent of evergreen and rain flooded her nostrils as the Bog King glowered at her in outrage.

“Apparently, this was a mistake.”  He growled at length, and shoved himself off the desk, away from her.  “If ye’ll _excuse_ me.”

Mercifully, the sight of the Bog King stomping towards the door sent a jolt of terror through Marianne’s limbs, and she clumsily scrambled from her seat to chase after him.

“Wait!  _Wait_ , my lord!  Please, _wait_!”

She came just shy of grabbing his arm, but he halted of own accord, though he did not turn to face her.  In his quiet breathing, she still heard his wrath, so she proceeded with caution and remorse.

“Sire, I _beg_ your forgiveness,” she whispered, “I never meant to offend you.  It was terribly thoughtless and rude of me…but, your majesty……you’re _not_ hideous!”

Slowly, he turned in her direction, fixing her with eyes of reserved astonishment that were almost instantly masked with distrust.

Marianne squared her jaw.  That would not do.  She would _not_ have those lovely blue orbs shine at her in such a way! 

“I…I was staring because…be-because…”

“Because _why_?”  

“I…I’ve come to know you so well from our recent correspondence, I’ll be forever grateful for that, and yet…seeing you here…i-in _person_ …it……it’s difficult to explain, but…I suppose it was rather jarring because it reminded me that…I’ve never……met anyone like you.  In the past, the most I ever had to go on were legends.  I suppose you could say that……that I _like_ to see you.  I find you…absolutely _fascinating_ , as much on the _outside_ as you are on the _inside_.  And I will say again, sire, as many times as it takes for you to not doubt me: you are _not_ hideous; not at _all_.”

Her confession might as well have pealed through the air like the chime of a bell, at least, that’s what it felt like in her gut, though her voice had been low and unassuming.  But she had spoken from the heart, and only hoped that she had not ruined their friendship with her insolence.    

The Bog King regarded her for an _eon_ it seemed!  Weighing her words one by one, testing their honesty.  She wished he would speak; she didn’t care what he said, she just couldn’t stand this silence any longer!

“Well…w-what do ye suggest we do then?”  He abruptly demanded, glowering at an arbitrary spot on the wall.  “F-fascinatin’ or not, it’s no better than _hideous_ if it keeps us from gettin’ any bloody work done.”

If Marianne didn’t know better, she’d say he was being…

… _bashful_?

“What’s it goin’ to take to get ye to  _focus_?”

 _That_ question stumped her, but for merely a moment.  For she was struck with the most indecent, insulting, and outright _insane_ idea! 

She wouldn’t! 

She _couldn’t_!

“Perhaps……i-if I might be allowed to…”

_But I **want** to._

“…examine you?”


	20. Chapter 20

In the wake of Marianne’s outrageous suggestion, all the oxygen might as well have been sucked clean from the room; the whole _world_ even!  She could not _believe_ what she’d just said!  The _audacity_!  The _shame_!  Her cheeks were searing, and it was taking every modicum of her nerve to remain standing rather than bow her head and sink to the floor like a child awaiting a harsh scolding.  And she'd had the nerve the get on Dawn's case earlier!  Ha! 

What must he _think_ of her?!  His stone silence made this situation all the worse, not to mention the way he was just _staring_ at her, like she was a vexing puzzle he was struggling to decipher. 

Oh, crabgrass!  This was so _humiliating_!  Had she lost her mind?!  Who asks something like that?!  Well, this was it; she’d ruined _everything_.  Not only the alliance, but her budding friendship, and for the first time in years, she felt the urge to cry.

Which made her shock _insurmountable_ , when instead of rebuking her and stalking angrily from the room as she fully expected him to do, the Bog King calmly crossed to her desk without a word, laid his staff upon the messy surface, then stepped back and turned towards her with closed eyes…

…waiting.

.

.

.

Was she dreaming?  Had she passed out?  How could he actually be _agreeing_ to this?  How had she not offended him to the point of severing their association for good?!

_No._

No, this _was_ real.  He was giving her his consent… 

Her legs were practically filled with rocks, but she forced herself to move.  Cautiously, like a doe testing the safety of a meadow, she came to his side, pulse thrumming in her ears, and shivers trickling down her limbs.

Standing _this_ close to him, _especially_ in such an improper context, she was stirred by just how tall and… _large_ he truly was compared to herself.  Of course, she already knew firsthand of his strength, but had never fully appreciated, until this moment, how remarkable it was that she’d been able to hold her own so well against an opponent of _his_ size.     

Did he know how… _encouraged_ that made her feel?  Despite all her posturing, secretly, she had severely doubted her skill as a fighter before meeting him.  All of the guards either didn’t take her seriously enough or were too _afraid_ to _not_ hold back against their queen, so her only sparring partners had been her pixies, and though they were helpful in their own way, they weren’t experts in combat.  Fighting _the_ Bog King to a draw had been a _major_ triumph over her anxieties on the matter.  She _did_ have what it takes to be a genuine warrior.  She _did_ know what she was doing!   

Well, she wished she knew where all that gumption was now.

Here she was, before the ruler of a neighboring land, who was allowing her to play pretend at doctor to satisfy her insufferable curiosity, so she would be able to concentrate on more pressing matters again…and she had no idea where to start!

Sure, he was allowing her to _look_ at him, but a proper examination would have to include…

Would he object to her touch?

The question stuck in her throat.  Somehow, the atmosphere around them seemed much too fragile for spoken words, and if his relaxed posture was anything to go by, _she_ was to take the lead from here on.

Setting her jaw, she raised her hand and reached for the closest thing to her, his right shoulder.

Gently, so gently, as if she were trying to stroke a soap bubble without causing it to rupture, she placed her fingertips against the middle scale.  It was hard and rough, as she assumed it would be; in fact, as she slowly and experimentally smoothed the belly of her digits barely an inch or two back and forth, it appeared to have the same texture and strength as the flaking bark from a pecan tree.  Intrigued, she lightly tapped a finger twice against the scale, and bit back a smile of wonder at the faint, wooden, * _tok-tok_ * sound it made.  She then carefully scraped a nail into the surface, marveling at the short, ashy line left behind, blending easily with the whole hodgepodge of patterns on his body.  He seemed to be perfectly built for camouflage.      

When her fingers wandered down to trace the bottom edge, she twitched in surprise when the Bog King suddenly, but casually, flexed all five of the scales making up his right shoulder.  They opened like pinecone petals, and upon closer inspection, she found that their roots sprouted forth from right about where his collar bones would be, had he a fairy’s skeletal structure.  She was further amazed to discover that his arm was _detached_ from the scales; they merely gave the _impression_ of a rather imposing pair of shoulders, serving their true purpose as natural armor over the joint without costing his arms too much of their mobility.  His _true_ shoulder was well tucked away under this quintet, flanked by yet _another_ pair of besague-like scales on the edge of his upper torso.

 _Fascinating_.

Her perusal continued around to the rear, where she noted that the majority of his body scales appeared to grow in a descending, overlapping pattern, and that his four wings sprouted right about where hers did on her shoulder blades.  The stalks connecting the wings to his torso were divided into vertical pairs.  Two on the left, and two on the right.  Despite supporting the slightly shorter set of the wings, the top stalks were a bit longer then their bottom counterparts, to provide him plenty of room to stretch said wings without worrying about tangling or abrasions.    

However, her appraisal of the stalks naturally led her to that distinct line of his spine, abruptly jostling her memory of that falcon ride.  Had she merely surprised him?  Was it a concealed injury?

…Or was he just… _extra_ sensitive there?

She longed to know for sure, but perhaps it would be best not to risk embarrassment over what she might or might not find.  The thought of prematurely ending…whatever _this_ was, terrified her.  No, she would _not_ touch him there.

Instead, her attention was drawn to one of his dangling wings.  Skies above, it was nearly as tall as she was!

When her knuckles brushed against the costal margin, he coolly spread all four of them out into a taunt ‘X’ shape.  In their rigid form, they were similar to large, jagged knives, and she was further in awe of the iridescent gleam winking at her from where the sunlight hit the membrane at just the right angle through the window.   

Emboldened, she curled her fingers around his lower left-side wing, and nearly gasped when he instantly let them all go as limp as ribbons of silk.

Her eyes methodically followed the length of the wing now draped across her hands, as well as its three other siblings.  She scanned the numerous, subtle veins and counted each hole and tear that occasionally interrupted their paths.  What was their story?  Were they battle scars?  Signs of his age?  Or the testaments of a rowdy and impetuous childhood? 

Another fond smile teased at her lips.  She could picture him as a little boy: running and flying through his wild homeland, splotched with mud and scrapes, but with happy, shining eyes full of wonder and mischief.   

She experimentally rubbed her fingertips over the thin, glassy chitin, finding that though they were perfectly flexible, they were dry as an autumn leaf.  On a whim, she mildly poked at a single rip along the apex, only to feel a wave of solace when he didn’t react.  It was a comfort to know that all these damages apparently did not cause him pain.

Releasing the wing, she briefly fisted her hands in excitement, wondering where to go next.  He inadvertently answered the question for her by minutely shifting his weight and pulling her focus to his lower half. 

Now, despite the _overwhelming_ relief of finally having the opportunity to sate her inexorable curiosity, she staunchly _refused_ to touch any lower than his narrow waist; this was _already_ inappropriate enough!  So, her eyes became the sole substitute for her investigation of his legs and feet. 

She began with the latter; funnily enough, they seemed to be the oddest thing about him.  Their overall shape reminded her somewhat of the trunks of those bald cypress trees growing up from the murky swamps her kind would fly over during their migration.  However, the placement and length of the ‘big toes’ were very similar to thumbs, resulting in a peculiar half-foot, half-hand design.  Viewing the rest of the digits, she knew that prehensility might be possible, but even if that wasn’t the case, if nothing else, the general size and width of his feet would give him a sturdy balance, and the talons would provide excellent traction.      

Taking her observation gradually upwards, she realized that from about the knees down, he no longer had the protective layer of hard scales.  Yet, even without them, his uncovered shins were incredibly long and dense-looking, like two slim branches of an oak tree, dotted with what appeared to be tiny thorns; identical to the ones on his jaw! 

His thighs resumed his regular scale structure, all the way up to just past his hips where they came to a point.  Unwillingly remembering what those old fools had said at Garden Soiree, she deliberately avoided so much as _glancing_ at his… _groin_ area with a heavy blush, and instead, landed her eyes upon his left arm.

Same as its twin, the limb was deceptively scrawny, hiding what she knew to be exceptional power, and it was adorned with a rather large scale that seemed much like a vambrace, shielding the top of his arm all the way from wrist to elbow, and stretching out over and above the upper joint as a kind of cowter.       

Intrigued, she picked up his arm with much less prudency then she’d been previously exercising and peered at his hand.  Goodness, she’d never see one this _big_ before!  And even when he sluggishly raised his fingers to give her the full effect, she felt as if they simply went on forever.  She had seen the single scale he had on the dorsal sides, like a fingerless gauntlet, but what about…?

Nibbling her lip, she lifted her free hand, and pressed it flat against his own.

The skin of his palm was disarmingly soft compared to his scales, though it retained the same colors and random assortment of nicks and scars.  His hand _dwarfed_ hers almost comically, and his wicked-sharp claws were the thing of nightmares, but not a shred of fear crossed her mind as she gazed upon them.  With their newfound alliance, it was…quite _pleasing_ to know that, as far as she was concerned, if anything, those claws would be used to _protect_ her and her people now, as her sword would do the same for _him_.   

Something else caught her eye then; the little scar on her knuckles from when she’d punched him.  For some reason, it occurred to her in that fleeting second…that he had not kissed her hand again since that first day.  There was odd uncomfortable twisting in her belly.  Was that…disappointment?

Confused, but ultimately deciding it was an absurd notion, she broke the connection and lowered his arm, turning her scrutiny to his front. 

His shockingly thin stomach was more or less repetitiously plated the same as his thighs and upper arms, but when she came to his chest, it was another story.  In addition to being impressively broad, she was piqued by how the scales appeared to take on an almost decorative arrangement.  Curves bordering straight edges that formed a ‘V’ over the center of his breast.  She saw at least three main layers of scales, the last of which split open at his neck like a coat collar.  It was amazing how it bore so much resemblance to…to…

…a fairy soldier’s suit of armor.

Marianne tensed as flashes of metallic green, pearl white, and worst of all, golden blonde assaulted her vision for one terrible moment, but she managed to grit her teeth and shake her head, banishing the phantom. 

_They are_ **nothing** _alike!_

As if to assure herself, she placed both of her hands on his chest.  The Bog King wasn’t wearing a suit.  This was all _him_.  No illusions, no lies.  He was the _real_ thing.  Tough, wise, kind, and _honest_.   

And those _genuine_ qualities…

…combined with everything else…

…unique to him…

…were absolutely…

_Beautiful._

No wonder _he_ was the almighty _king_ of the Dark Forest!

A surge of delight and tenderness compelled her to look up, but as soon as she did, she paused.  His eyes were still closed, but his mouth had parted a fraction.  All at once she became hyperaware his gentle breathing, and how… _sharp_ he was.  His ears, cheekbones, nose, teeth, claws, scales.  He was the ideal predator; capable of causing so much damage…

And yet…

Watching him like this; submissive and vulnerable…

It both thrilled _and_ soothed her.

Maybe that was why, as if under a spell, her hands eventually crept up towards his face.

The instant her fingers touched his pale, gaunt cheeks, as softly as a dandelion seed, the Bog King released the quietest, shuddering gasp and opened his eyes, locking immediately onto her own.

Something happened then, something Marianne couldn’t hope to explain, but whatever it was, it had seized ahold of her.  Some strange, subtle, but irresistible force was rushing the blood through her veins, blocking all sound from her ears, siphoning the air from her lungs, and preventing her from withdrawing.  Instead, as she continued to stare into those warm, crystal blue eyes, she felt it pull her closer…closer…

_Closer..._

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews and kudos are like warm hugs! ^_^  
> <3


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